This morning at work I was hangin clothes and could see my own breath. Indoors, mind you. It's like tyhis every winter and every winter I am so fucking miserable. I kept thinking this wasn't meant for me. I don't need to be here, in this place where my hands & feet are so cold they hurt. I fought tears all day.
I keep feeling like this isn't me. I wasn't born in the right time or place. This isn't my skin, this isn't my body--it can't be! How can this fat ugly body be mine? I feel like I wanna crawl out of my skin and go somewhere--anywhere else.
As always, soon the stinging behind my eyes turns to rage that I do not conceal. I cuss out loud and while I do not throw things I may perhaps, things down loudly and such. I cannot contain it. The frustration eats me alive from the outside. I curse myslf for thinking of what could have been, other choices I could have made. Why do that? It's not going to make me any warmer, any happier.
Soon, I'm fighting back tears. I hate this place. I hate this job. I hate that even after 9 or 10 hours on the clock, I face another 5 or 6 when I clock out. Every winter I think it's going to be the one that breaks me. And yet I survive.
I'm so fucking tired. Exhausted. Tired of thinking about what could have been, what should have been. You stupid, fat, ugly cow. You fucked up everything! Nobody cares if you're cold.
I gotta get out of here. It's only been one very cold day, the first of many and it's already breaking me. I'm home now, alone and sobbing freely. This cannot be my skin.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Thursday, November 21, 2013
50/50
So much has happened and yet so much has not yet happened. Oddly enough, Shawn was approached by a couple of ladies through an aquaintance. They wanted a partnership to build an electronic cigarette shop. They know there's decent enough profits there but know little about the product or where to buy it wholsale. Shawn can supply such information.
We all had a meeting, my first, everyone else's second. It seemed so promising until last night. I took it all to mean that these women would put up about $10,000 or so to cover the first round of merchandise & supplies. We would supply the juice. We would run the store, reorder, deal with customersa nd so forth. Theyw ould not give up their jobs or income. We would. And the profits would be split 50/50. Forever.
A lot of things were said very quickly. A lot of numbers were thrown about. For about twenty minuets, Shawn argued with on of the women. We left last night on good terms. It was a whirlwind of information so fast I didn't have time time to absorb it all. When this all began, it seemed like a good idea. They have money; we do not. We have knowledge; they do not. I was wary at first but the more Shawn spoke of these women, the more I fell on board. Until last night.
The next morning, at work I had time to think. I wouldn't bust my ass at work for 50% of my paycheck. We're giving up Shawn's business and my steady, secure paycheck. They are giving up, what...ten grand? They keep their jobs so what are they risking exactly? Their homes are paid for; they're older than we are. Our house is not paid for, not by far. We discussed the risks of being taken advantage of. Would they merely take our wholsale information and run?
It's quite possible. This is an almost guarenteed money maker. The only problem is that we don't have the money to get it started. In a couple of months, we may have enough to half ass it. Don half assed it and cleared $22,000 in 30 days.
That's another thing that bothers me too. Normally, I"m not the jealous kind. I usually feel as long as I have a roof and food, I have nothing to be jealous of. Normally I am quite content, except maybe when I cannot find the right sort of coupons. But usally I am mostly content even when we are peniless, which is quite often. Lately though I'vew feeling a surging rage of jealously. Don is a half-wit, most how have met him will agree on that. He's seems to have tripped into this business, didn't know what he was doing--I know this because he would call Shawn, who he just met asking, "What do I do?!!"
And suddenly this man is rich. I feel like after everything we've done, all the money we've borrowed and spent and the endless, endless hours we've put in...
It should be us. What an easy, air conditioned way to make tens of thousands in a month. Yes, I am quite ashamed that I feel this way, deeply ashamed. I cannot tuck this feeling away and I keep asking, why does everything have to be so damn hard ALL THE TIME? OK, God, I've experienced struggle. I've been hungry and cold. Can you give us a break for once, maybe? Hmm? I do not like this side of me. I hate it. But I am also tired of my job, I can't do this forever. I'm tired of the hours spent searching for coupons, eating dinner an hour before bed, and the sleep loss.
Wasn't I meant for something better? I don't have to be rich, hell I don't want to be rich. I want things to stop being so fucking hard. I want us to catch a break! I want to work in a place where the profits will be mine, not an hourly wage, barely making the bills. I want heat int he winter, a/c in the summer. I want to stop sweating and shivering so damn much. I gotta get away from some of my coworkers! I swear if I keep my thoughts to myself any longer someone's gonna slapped in the mouth! OK, that's really just one and I've gotten really good at keeping my shit together. I'm afraid after another year or two of being hot and cold and dealing with this chick's mouth I;'m just gonna freaking lose it.
Yeah, I guess a lot of this is talk. I'm just immesley frustrated with everything in general.
We all had a meeting, my first, everyone else's second. It seemed so promising until last night. I took it all to mean that these women would put up about $10,000 or so to cover the first round of merchandise & supplies. We would supply the juice. We would run the store, reorder, deal with customersa nd so forth. Theyw ould not give up their jobs or income. We would. And the profits would be split 50/50. Forever.
A lot of things were said very quickly. A lot of numbers were thrown about. For about twenty minuets, Shawn argued with on of the women. We left last night on good terms. It was a whirlwind of information so fast I didn't have time time to absorb it all. When this all began, it seemed like a good idea. They have money; we do not. We have knowledge; they do not. I was wary at first but the more Shawn spoke of these women, the more I fell on board. Until last night.
The next morning, at work I had time to think. I wouldn't bust my ass at work for 50% of my paycheck. We're giving up Shawn's business and my steady, secure paycheck. They are giving up, what...ten grand? They keep their jobs so what are they risking exactly? Their homes are paid for; they're older than we are. Our house is not paid for, not by far. We discussed the risks of being taken advantage of. Would they merely take our wholsale information and run?
It's quite possible. This is an almost guarenteed money maker. The only problem is that we don't have the money to get it started. In a couple of months, we may have enough to half ass it. Don half assed it and cleared $22,000 in 30 days.
That's another thing that bothers me too. Normally, I"m not the jealous kind. I usually feel as long as I have a roof and food, I have nothing to be jealous of. Normally I am quite content, except maybe when I cannot find the right sort of coupons. But usally I am mostly content even when we are peniless, which is quite often. Lately though I'vew feeling a surging rage of jealously. Don is a half-wit, most how have met him will agree on that. He's seems to have tripped into this business, didn't know what he was doing--I know this because he would call Shawn, who he just met asking, "What do I do?!!"
And suddenly this man is rich. I feel like after everything we've done, all the money we've borrowed and spent and the endless, endless hours we've put in...
It should be us. What an easy, air conditioned way to make tens of thousands in a month. Yes, I am quite ashamed that I feel this way, deeply ashamed. I cannot tuck this feeling away and I keep asking, why does everything have to be so damn hard ALL THE TIME? OK, God, I've experienced struggle. I've been hungry and cold. Can you give us a break for once, maybe? Hmm? I do not like this side of me. I hate it. But I am also tired of my job, I can't do this forever. I'm tired of the hours spent searching for coupons, eating dinner an hour before bed, and the sleep loss.
Wasn't I meant for something better? I don't have to be rich, hell I don't want to be rich. I want things to stop being so fucking hard. I want us to catch a break! I want to work in a place where the profits will be mine, not an hourly wage, barely making the bills. I want heat int he winter, a/c in the summer. I want to stop sweating and shivering so damn much. I gotta get away from some of my coworkers! I swear if I keep my thoughts to myself any longer someone's gonna slapped in the mouth! OK, that's really just one and I've gotten really good at keeping my shit together. I'm afraid after another year or two of being hot and cold and dealing with this chick's mouth I;'m just gonna freaking lose it.
Yeah, I guess a lot of this is talk. I'm just immesley frustrated with everything in general.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Vicious Green Eyed Monster
I'll just go ahead and say it. It should've been us to have the $20,000 per month profit store. It's easy for me to say that because I don't really know Don and Victoria. It may be that they've overcome some hardships and truly deserve all this, not that deserving or not deserving is a good reason for being jealous. There is never a good reason to be jealous. It's a combination of me being so tired of watching literally every dime and nickel, years of eBay struggles, and idly watching as others succeed. It's not as though I've been sitting on my ass waiting for a miracle to happen. We're doers in this household, dammit!
Part of my jealously stems from Don's stupidity. He's been in business a little over a month. He made $22,000 profit in his first 30 days and now he's raising prices. Stupid. He's going to drive his customers right intot he cheap, loving arms of internet orders. When he gave Shawn suppliues to start making liquids, he'd left invoices in the box. We knew exactly where he'd ordered from and as such, we ordered from those places. We're going to order batteries and tanks to sell to friends and eBay so we can prepare a $20K profit store for ourselves.
When Shawn delivers a box of liquids to Don, he whips out a wad of cash (in front of customers too) to pay him. Don flashes this wad of cash in front of people--not just Shawn. He's so inviting a robbery. He talks way too much. But because of his ignornace and diarhea of the mouth (seriously diarhea) we know exactly where to drive for emergency merchandise, where to order, how much to pay, etc. We have learned from Don's mistakes and we also possess common sense--something not held by the majority of the population.
Shawn and I discussed where to open a store and it's not that he's against burning Don. Of course we both hold very high moral standards, it's the idea enough money to be made by all. SHawn's convinced that there's not enough customers in our city. "Don's customers LOVE him. They wouldn't do business any where else," Shawn explained. They might if he raises prices like he's doing. He's already added $10 to a basic starter kit. He buys it for $5 and was selling for $40. Now he wants $50. Because he's greedy. And stupid.
On Don's store facebook page, he has "liked" every vapor store from here to who knows where. Why? Because he's stupid. He's created a virtual yellow pages for his competition on his very own page. We could do this better. You don't raise prices before Christmas--you create a sale. Give the gift of quitting smoking for Christmas! I'm so much smarter than this.
We're not yet sure if this other douche is gonna open a store in Harker Heights. We were thinking that even if he did, if it were far away enough from our ideal area, it wouldn't matter. The area we're thinking of I would imagine, has gargantuan rent, but the area is conveinet, in a really decent neighborhood and would assume high profits. We couldn't fail. And we have yet to see if this douche is serious.
I'm not sure yet what's going to happen for us. I really try, so hard, not to get my hopes up because I'm so fed up with disapointment. I don't know what's in store for us. I hope it does happen because if we were making a fraction of what Don makes, we wouldn't have to it for very long. We could retire young and enjoy life. We could help people with this money. And yes, as harsh and I come off, I really want to help my parents, my nieces get a hard start on life, and I'd really love to stock the local pantries with food. I don't want to do these things so I can feel good about myself and say, "Look at what I did!" I want to do these things because I've never had the means to before.
Shawn and I have always felt this way. We decided long ago, we'd set up scholarships for less privaliged kids, like my nephew--one helped him at least get started. I'd always wanted to save animals from the death needle in shelters and volunteer at the children's hospital--or at least donate tons of fun board games. All these things take money and time--neither of which are available at the moment. I want my dad to be able to retire and I want to pay for my mom's back pain to be taken away. After all she's been through, she deserves to be pain free.
Even though I'm bitter and jealous, I still have good intentions. I'm passionate enough about these causes that there's no way I'd let them slip through my fingers once the money started rolling in. I'm tired of listening to my mom cry over the phone and I would be devasted if my nieces (with 1.5 years of school left) wound up working in a place full of chemicals, noise and weather.
My family deserves better.
Part of my jealously stems from Don's stupidity. He's been in business a little over a month. He made $22,000 profit in his first 30 days and now he's raising prices. Stupid. He's going to drive his customers right intot he cheap, loving arms of internet orders. When he gave Shawn suppliues to start making liquids, he'd left invoices in the box. We knew exactly where he'd ordered from and as such, we ordered from those places. We're going to order batteries and tanks to sell to friends and eBay so we can prepare a $20K profit store for ourselves.
When Shawn delivers a box of liquids to Don, he whips out a wad of cash (in front of customers too) to pay him. Don flashes this wad of cash in front of people--not just Shawn. He's so inviting a robbery. He talks way too much. But because of his ignornace and diarhea of the mouth (seriously diarhea) we know exactly where to drive for emergency merchandise, where to order, how much to pay, etc. We have learned from Don's mistakes and we also possess common sense--something not held by the majority of the population.
Shawn and I discussed where to open a store and it's not that he's against burning Don. Of course we both hold very high moral standards, it's the idea enough money to be made by all. SHawn's convinced that there's not enough customers in our city. "Don's customers LOVE him. They wouldn't do business any where else," Shawn explained. They might if he raises prices like he's doing. He's already added $10 to a basic starter kit. He buys it for $5 and was selling for $40. Now he wants $50. Because he's greedy. And stupid.
On Don's store facebook page, he has "liked" every vapor store from here to who knows where. Why? Because he's stupid. He's created a virtual yellow pages for his competition on his very own page. We could do this better. You don't raise prices before Christmas--you create a sale. Give the gift of quitting smoking for Christmas! I'm so much smarter than this.
We're not yet sure if this other douche is gonna open a store in Harker Heights. We were thinking that even if he did, if it were far away enough from our ideal area, it wouldn't matter. The area we're thinking of I would imagine, has gargantuan rent, but the area is conveinet, in a really decent neighborhood and would assume high profits. We couldn't fail. And we have yet to see if this douche is serious.
I'm not sure yet what's going to happen for us. I really try, so hard, not to get my hopes up because I'm so fed up with disapointment. I don't know what's in store for us. I hope it does happen because if we were making a fraction of what Don makes, we wouldn't have to it for very long. We could retire young and enjoy life. We could help people with this money. And yes, as harsh and I come off, I really want to help my parents, my nieces get a hard start on life, and I'd really love to stock the local pantries with food. I don't want to do these things so I can feel good about myself and say, "Look at what I did!" I want to do these things because I've never had the means to before.
Shawn and I have always felt this way. We decided long ago, we'd set up scholarships for less privaliged kids, like my nephew--one helped him at least get started. I'd always wanted to save animals from the death needle in shelters and volunteer at the children's hospital--or at least donate tons of fun board games. All these things take money and time--neither of which are available at the moment. I want my dad to be able to retire and I want to pay for my mom's back pain to be taken away. After all she's been through, she deserves to be pain free.
Even though I'm bitter and jealous, I still have good intentions. I'm passionate enough about these causes that there's no way I'd let them slip through my fingers once the money started rolling in. I'm tired of listening to my mom cry over the phone and I would be devasted if my nieces (with 1.5 years of school left) wound up working in a place full of chemicals, noise and weather.
My family deserves better.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
I'm throwing a pity party and everyone's invited! (byob--lots of it)
Hope deffered makes the heart sick.
--The Bible
I don't know exactly where in the Bible it says that but just take my word for it; it's in there. I practically woke up crying this monring and fought tears all day at work. So much has happened. So much that was supposed to happen, didn't. And so I awoke with tears in my eyes. SOmething was taken from me last night--my last shred of hope.
I'll elaborate. First of all, I was telling Shawn that because of the rain--lots and lots of rain--Darrell's ashes would not return to the earth. I explained to him that it probably won't be this weekend ewither. "Why?" he demanded.
"Because Nikki's sister is coming down," I replied.
"So?" asked Shawn.
I explained that we cannot route this event around the weekends of 30 people but for some reason this side of the family does not apply and that Nikki suggested maybe we should just wait till January, after the holidays.
"WHAT?!" Shawn was furious and then decided to make a joke. "But we can't do it in January--that's my BIRTHDAY MONTH!!"
So that's that. Whatever.
About 11 years ago we decided to give eBay a go and I soon developed a stern hatred for the beast. I've told SHawn over and over how I hate doing it, it's such a hassle and he throws a fit and whines until I give in and simply continue doing it. We started small and began watching what others were selling. We would see such people were making a killing on said items. We'd buy said item ourselves and sell them for peanuts. No matter what we tried, how many times we tried it or in what ways we tried it, we always made peanuts. We had fantastic dreams of quitting our jobs over this but it was always quickly squashed.
I used to remember all the different items we'd sold but I've long since forgotten. The video game thing was the most devasting. As oon as we got rolling a little bit, Buy.com came into ebay and ruined it for everyone. We wern't the only ones that got hurt by these mega sellers.
I've hated my job for a long time and I've followed SHawn's coat tails for a long, long time. Over two years ago, Shawn quit his job to start up his business Hot Torch Designs. We took out loans, refinanced the house (making the house payment astronomical) and seetled in to bide our time. Last November he had no jobs at all. We were ina dire situation for several months. I even got food stamps for the first time in our lives. They gave me $72 each month for six months. Doesn't sound like much, but I made it work to my advantage.
This November he's been offered 3 well paying jobs--all within a week. I wondered where all this was this time last year when he had little to eat. We decided to bypass these offers because of one reason:
Shawn had decided to open an electronic cigarette store.
This came to us by pure accident. Shawn had worked for the same employeer as Victoria. Victoria is married to Don, who a month ago opend a e-cig shop. Don came to Shawn to mix the liquids. He wanted no part of it and the guy he hired to do turned out to be a scame artist. Over the next couple of weeks, we received rave, rave, rave reviews on the liquids. Shawn observed how much money Do was making over cheap Chinese made products and decided this would be the best route for us. Also, Don talks way too much without being asked. He told SHawn in his first month of business he cleared $22,000 profits.
That's stupid amounts of money. Once I heard this, I was on board with SHawn. I thought of all the things I would not have to do or put up with if I didn't work at the cleaners. No harmful chemicals (pretty much), climate controlled! No sweltering summers or freezing winters. I said once aghain, "I don't know if I can handle another winter here." I say it every year however this time around we've got TWO exhaust fans in the wall and I'm pretty much the only one standing NOT going through menopause. I spent most of each winter trying not to cry because I am so miserable and cold and I cannot beleive I ended up in this place.
Anyways, we decied that Don already has a customer base we'd open a store in Harker Heights, small enough to function in but big enough to grab profits and entice the soldiers of Ft. Hood. Shawn had lined up 2 or 3 jobs that would secure the means for opening the store. If we made half as much as Don in our first month, we'd be pretty well off. Really well off.
Last night Don called & explained to SHawn that he had set up SHawn's liquid making talents for a new store opening in Harker Heights. And that's where it all fell apart. This guy is a childhood friend of Don's so he's showing the guy the ropes. I failed to state earlier that Don isn't the sharpest pencil in the box. In fact, he's kinda dumb about some stuff. Nicest dude you'll meet, but dumb. This makes at least 2 store in Heights that we know of. Killen is taken over and SHawn's doesn't set up here in town becxause of Don's customer bases. Personally I think he doesn't want to take away from Don and after 11 years of trying to make something work--I hate to say it, I really do--but I'm at the point of saying, Take what you can and fuck the rest.
We don't know these people super well or are even close with them. I personally don't think a little competition would hurt anyone but well, this is shawn. I've gotten harder; he's grown softer. I hate my fucking job. I hate the cold, the sweaty stinky heat. I hate the lack of common sense of my coworkers. I hate dealing with poop! I'm sick of touching used tissues in pockets and I'm sick of useless conversations that go no where just because someone feels the need to chat (I swear these people CANNOT read my mood--It's simple. My mood says this: GO AWAY!)
I'll never make much more salary than what I've got and we're never going to get anywhere making peanuts. we've always got debts and huge house payments. When things start looking ok, one of the dogs had a $400 vet bill or something.
SO this monring I woke up crying. I sobbed freely until it was time to drive and then I forced myself to push it down as I always do. They say stuffing down your feelings causes tumors. I must be riddled with them but I wasn't any better when I talked about my feelings all the time. It makes me sick to remember how I used to be and it still makes me sick when others behave that way. Shut the fuck up, put on your big girl panties and DEAL WITH IT!!
However, it was difficulkt to simply accept all this as the cold front moved in. To be rational, Shawn's got Don and two new stores lined up for liquid making. I suppose we could hit the head shops and tobacco stores with samples....
...and what, become thousandaires? I guess it's better than nothing but we've been with nothing for a very long time and I'm growing very impatinet. This morning I cleaned the workplace microwave. Again. There was fuzzy mold growing on the base, under the turn plate. I'm so sick of these filthy fucking people. I ate my monring oatmeal, trying not to cry.
Sometime in the afternoon, the recesses of my memory spoke to me. An old Joyce Meyer CD replayed in my head as she reminded me that God may have another plan in the works. Just because you told God your plans does not mean it's God's plan. Well, I sure wish he'd give me a little hint or let me in on it just a tiny bit. I'm so tired of being so frustrated all the time.
Allow me to say right here that Shawn has finally quit smoking and I am thankful for that beyonw what words can describe. I have also asked God to make my dogs stop peeing on the rug and he hasn't asnwered me. I suppose it'll be another eight years and perhaps the dogs will go where their supposed to go 100% of the time rather than the current 70%.
Agin, very frustrating and I've about had it. I feel as though I want to deperastely give up and quit. I give up several times a year. I always pick myself back up but I am afraid there may come a time when I cannot pick myself up after another disappointment. God, is it truly your plan to have us fail at everything all the time? I'm afarid I'll be at the cleaners for the rest of my life, or at least until they find a spot on my lung.
I'm so glad I'm me.
--The Bible
I don't know exactly where in the Bible it says that but just take my word for it; it's in there. I practically woke up crying this monring and fought tears all day at work. So much has happened. So much that was supposed to happen, didn't. And so I awoke with tears in my eyes. SOmething was taken from me last night--my last shred of hope.
I'll elaborate. First of all, I was telling Shawn that because of the rain--lots and lots of rain--Darrell's ashes would not return to the earth. I explained to him that it probably won't be this weekend ewither. "Why?" he demanded.
"Because Nikki's sister is coming down," I replied.
"So?" asked Shawn.
I explained that we cannot route this event around the weekends of 30 people but for some reason this side of the family does not apply and that Nikki suggested maybe we should just wait till January, after the holidays.
"WHAT?!" Shawn was furious and then decided to make a joke. "But we can't do it in January--that's my BIRTHDAY MONTH!!"
So that's that. Whatever.
About 11 years ago we decided to give eBay a go and I soon developed a stern hatred for the beast. I've told SHawn over and over how I hate doing it, it's such a hassle and he throws a fit and whines until I give in and simply continue doing it. We started small and began watching what others were selling. We would see such people were making a killing on said items. We'd buy said item ourselves and sell them for peanuts. No matter what we tried, how many times we tried it or in what ways we tried it, we always made peanuts. We had fantastic dreams of quitting our jobs over this but it was always quickly squashed.
I used to remember all the different items we'd sold but I've long since forgotten. The video game thing was the most devasting. As oon as we got rolling a little bit, Buy.com came into ebay and ruined it for everyone. We wern't the only ones that got hurt by these mega sellers.
I've hated my job for a long time and I've followed SHawn's coat tails for a long, long time. Over two years ago, Shawn quit his job to start up his business Hot Torch Designs. We took out loans, refinanced the house (making the house payment astronomical) and seetled in to bide our time. Last November he had no jobs at all. We were ina dire situation for several months. I even got food stamps for the first time in our lives. They gave me $72 each month for six months. Doesn't sound like much, but I made it work to my advantage.
This November he's been offered 3 well paying jobs--all within a week. I wondered where all this was this time last year when he had little to eat. We decided to bypass these offers because of one reason:
Shawn had decided to open an electronic cigarette store.
This came to us by pure accident. Shawn had worked for the same employeer as Victoria. Victoria is married to Don, who a month ago opend a e-cig shop. Don came to Shawn to mix the liquids. He wanted no part of it and the guy he hired to do turned out to be a scame artist. Over the next couple of weeks, we received rave, rave, rave reviews on the liquids. Shawn observed how much money Do was making over cheap Chinese made products and decided this would be the best route for us. Also, Don talks way too much without being asked. He told SHawn in his first month of business he cleared $22,000 profits.
That's stupid amounts of money. Once I heard this, I was on board with SHawn. I thought of all the things I would not have to do or put up with if I didn't work at the cleaners. No harmful chemicals (pretty much), climate controlled! No sweltering summers or freezing winters. I said once aghain, "I don't know if I can handle another winter here." I say it every year however this time around we've got TWO exhaust fans in the wall and I'm pretty much the only one standing NOT going through menopause. I spent most of each winter trying not to cry because I am so miserable and cold and I cannot beleive I ended up in this place.
Anyways, we decied that Don already has a customer base we'd open a store in Harker Heights, small enough to function in but big enough to grab profits and entice the soldiers of Ft. Hood. Shawn had lined up 2 or 3 jobs that would secure the means for opening the store. If we made half as much as Don in our first month, we'd be pretty well off. Really well off.
Last night Don called & explained to SHawn that he had set up SHawn's liquid making talents for a new store opening in Harker Heights. And that's where it all fell apart. This guy is a childhood friend of Don's so he's showing the guy the ropes. I failed to state earlier that Don isn't the sharpest pencil in the box. In fact, he's kinda dumb about some stuff. Nicest dude you'll meet, but dumb. This makes at least 2 store in Heights that we know of. Killen is taken over and SHawn's doesn't set up here in town becxause of Don's customer bases. Personally I think he doesn't want to take away from Don and after 11 years of trying to make something work--I hate to say it, I really do--but I'm at the point of saying, Take what you can and fuck the rest.
We don't know these people super well or are even close with them. I personally don't think a little competition would hurt anyone but well, this is shawn. I've gotten harder; he's grown softer. I hate my fucking job. I hate the cold, the sweaty stinky heat. I hate the lack of common sense of my coworkers. I hate dealing with poop! I'm sick of touching used tissues in pockets and I'm sick of useless conversations that go no where just because someone feels the need to chat (I swear these people CANNOT read my mood--It's simple. My mood says this: GO AWAY!)
I'll never make much more salary than what I've got and we're never going to get anywhere making peanuts. we've always got debts and huge house payments. When things start looking ok, one of the dogs had a $400 vet bill or something.
SO this monring I woke up crying. I sobbed freely until it was time to drive and then I forced myself to push it down as I always do. They say stuffing down your feelings causes tumors. I must be riddled with them but I wasn't any better when I talked about my feelings all the time. It makes me sick to remember how I used to be and it still makes me sick when others behave that way. Shut the fuck up, put on your big girl panties and DEAL WITH IT!!
However, it was difficulkt to simply accept all this as the cold front moved in. To be rational, Shawn's got Don and two new stores lined up for liquid making. I suppose we could hit the head shops and tobacco stores with samples....
...and what, become thousandaires? I guess it's better than nothing but we've been with nothing for a very long time and I'm growing very impatinet. This morning I cleaned the workplace microwave. Again. There was fuzzy mold growing on the base, under the turn plate. I'm so sick of these filthy fucking people. I ate my monring oatmeal, trying not to cry.
Sometime in the afternoon, the recesses of my memory spoke to me. An old Joyce Meyer CD replayed in my head as she reminded me that God may have another plan in the works. Just because you told God your plans does not mean it's God's plan. Well, I sure wish he'd give me a little hint or let me in on it just a tiny bit. I'm so tired of being so frustrated all the time.
Allow me to say right here that Shawn has finally quit smoking and I am thankful for that beyonw what words can describe. I have also asked God to make my dogs stop peeing on the rug and he hasn't asnwered me. I suppose it'll be another eight years and perhaps the dogs will go where their supposed to go 100% of the time rather than the current 70%.
Agin, very frustrating and I've about had it. I feel as though I want to deperastely give up and quit. I give up several times a year. I always pick myself back up but I am afraid there may come a time when I cannot pick myself up after another disappointment. God, is it truly your plan to have us fail at everything all the time? I'm afarid I'll be at the cleaners for the rest of my life, or at least until they find a spot on my lung.
I'm so glad I'm me.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
All Hallow's Eve
I really hate Halloween. Why is it up tot he masses to purchase sugar filled candy for everyone else's children? It's nothing but a day that upsets my evening.
At work, some of the chicks dressed up as nothing more than "look at me". ANd for adults, that all it is. It gives young women an excuse to dress as sluts, and men an excuse to openly leer at them. That was not the case ta work but it still annoyed me for some reason. I think it' the whole Me Mentality. LOOK AT ME! PAY ATTENTION TO ME! Around here we like to call people like that Attention Sluts.
Then there's Shawn's sister, Kelly, who invites herself and her children to our house every Halloween and every 4th of July. I wouldn't mind so much if her children weren't such spoiled brats and Kelly didn't linger. It's what she does. SHe invites herself and lingers as though she has nothing to do, no where to be. It's because she really doesn't. And it doesn't matter how many times I've reminded her that I wake at 4:30 in the AM, she doesn't care. She truly doesn't care and I hate that about her. I"ve tried to be very sweet about it, pleading to be quiet so I can go to bed, I've tried to be mean to her face, abhorently rude and nothing works. SHe drags her kids around and lingers. Lingers.
The eldest is now 19 I think and still dresses up and trick or treats with them all in our neighborhood. If you're old enough to vote, you're too old to trick or treat! If you can drive through our neighborhood, you don't need to camp at our house! THe eldest daughter is 17 and dresses pretty provocatively thorugh the rest of the year so you can imagine how she likes to Miley Cirus it up on Halloween. It drives both me and Shawn absolutely crazy the way the girl dresses and the older she gets, the more her boobs grow, thus the more they practically fall out of her blouse. It makes most of the family nuts but you can't say anything to Kelly about it.
There's also the whole Lucy Issue. SHe hates all these people. SHe barks constantly and there's nothing I can do to quiet her. As long as these people are int he house, Lucy barks and growls and snarls. She'd bite them if she had any front teeth left. This is what Kelly doesn't understand. I could go to bed at a reasonable hour, quiet Lucy int he bedroom, but the moment she hears the baboon laughter, Lucy goes nuts barking and inenitably wakes me.
A couple weeks ago I found a naturally wonderful solution: Two shots of whiskey on an empty stomach. Within twenty minuets I didn't care if the house was shaking with baboon laughter. I could have cared less if the whole family wanted to move in! Within another 5 minuets I was out like a deads thing and I dind't hear anything intil my alarm clock went off hours later.
It's currently 6:30 pm on Halloween and already I can hear the neighborhood dogs stirring. I think it's time for a drink....
At work, some of the chicks dressed up as nothing more than "look at me". ANd for adults, that all it is. It gives young women an excuse to dress as sluts, and men an excuse to openly leer at them. That was not the case ta work but it still annoyed me for some reason. I think it' the whole Me Mentality. LOOK AT ME! PAY ATTENTION TO ME! Around here we like to call people like that Attention Sluts.
Then there's Shawn's sister, Kelly, who invites herself and her children to our house every Halloween and every 4th of July. I wouldn't mind so much if her children weren't such spoiled brats and Kelly didn't linger. It's what she does. SHe invites herself and lingers as though she has nothing to do, no where to be. It's because she really doesn't. And it doesn't matter how many times I've reminded her that I wake at 4:30 in the AM, she doesn't care. She truly doesn't care and I hate that about her. I"ve tried to be very sweet about it, pleading to be quiet so I can go to bed, I've tried to be mean to her face, abhorently rude and nothing works. SHe drags her kids around and lingers. Lingers.
The eldest is now 19 I think and still dresses up and trick or treats with them all in our neighborhood. If you're old enough to vote, you're too old to trick or treat! If you can drive through our neighborhood, you don't need to camp at our house! THe eldest daughter is 17 and dresses pretty provocatively thorugh the rest of the year so you can imagine how she likes to Miley Cirus it up on Halloween. It drives both me and Shawn absolutely crazy the way the girl dresses and the older she gets, the more her boobs grow, thus the more they practically fall out of her blouse. It makes most of the family nuts but you can't say anything to Kelly about it.
There's also the whole Lucy Issue. SHe hates all these people. SHe barks constantly and there's nothing I can do to quiet her. As long as these people are int he house, Lucy barks and growls and snarls. She'd bite them if she had any front teeth left. This is what Kelly doesn't understand. I could go to bed at a reasonable hour, quiet Lucy int he bedroom, but the moment she hears the baboon laughter, Lucy goes nuts barking and inenitably wakes me.
A couple weeks ago I found a naturally wonderful solution: Two shots of whiskey on an empty stomach. Within twenty minuets I didn't care if the house was shaking with baboon laughter. I could have cared less if the whole family wanted to move in! Within another 5 minuets I was out like a deads thing and I dind't hear anything intil my alarm clock went off hours later.
It's currently 6:30 pm on Halloween and already I can hear the neighborhood dogs stirring. I think it's time for a drink....
Ashes to Ashes But Not in My Son's Birthday Month
I well aware of the irony of all this rain. It's not completely lost on me, here. Yes, Darrell did state that after he passed it would rain buckets and buckets. We could have had the memorial in October if not for Justin's stubborness, and yet here are, the 1st Saturday of November coming up and it has rained more in the last few days than it has all year (or at least it seems that way). Soon it will be colder and grayer and so the memorial will be postponed until the following weekend, weather permitting of course. And God forbid any of these people have a birthday in the month of November or December. I fear Darrell may never be put to rest.
It has also been suggested that we all cook Darrell's favorite foods and get together for a potluck. I admonished Mom for not severely and immediately pointing out that it will not be at her home. This was all through Justin's seperated wife, since neither of Darrell's sons have bothered to contact my parents since the passing.
Perhaps this eating can be at a church or somewhere in a parking lot or something. I don't want these people in my parents' house anymore, particular the wife, ugh, Betty. I'm afraid of what she's capable of. And needless to say, we'll all have to spend one more day together. I told my mom I wasn't pleased about having to eat with these people and I don't really care to spend a lot of time with them. "You don't have to," she told me in a very serious voice as though she thoroughly meant it. Keeping my big mouth shut is sure to cause tumors to form and the more time I spend with Darrell's family, the more tumors are likely to form somewhere in my body.
One of these days, I'm certainly going to rectify that. I look forward to it.
It has also been suggested that we all cook Darrell's favorite foods and get together for a potluck. I admonished Mom for not severely and immediately pointing out that it will not be at her home. This was all through Justin's seperated wife, since neither of Darrell's sons have bothered to contact my parents since the passing.
Perhaps this eating can be at a church or somewhere in a parking lot or something. I don't want these people in my parents' house anymore, particular the wife, ugh, Betty. I'm afraid of what she's capable of. And needless to say, we'll all have to spend one more day together. I told my mom I wasn't pleased about having to eat with these people and I don't really care to spend a lot of time with them. "You don't have to," she told me in a very serious voice as though she thoroughly meant it. Keeping my big mouth shut is sure to cause tumors to form and the more time I spend with Darrell's family, the more tumors are likely to form somewhere in my body.
One of these days, I'm certainly going to rectify that. I look forward to it.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Butterflies
Soon after Darrell's passing, I received a beautiful greeting card in the mail. It reads: God works through you in beautiful ways. He's always putting you where He needs you to be. And you're always doing what He needs you to do. He gives you strength and you reach out to help those who need a hand. He gives you love and you bless others with your caring heart. Best of all, He's given you and your friendship to me. And that's the most beautiful blessing anyone could ask for. Thanks for all your helpful ways.
Inside the card, Mom wrote: Dear Shawn & Misty, I can't begin to tell you both how much we truly appreciate all you did during Darrell's illness. All of the "Sam's runs" for Darrell & most of all for the many visits and letting me cry on your precious shoulders so many times! I know you both loved him as he did you both too. I could never have made it without y'all. May God bless you both each day and we love you both! --Mom & Dad
I had barely began reading it before I started sobbing. I even told Mom that I'm not one for keeping greeting cards, but this one was surely a keeper. Occasionally she would call me at work and ask if I could pick up something at Sam's. Of course she would tell me not to go out of my way, only if I happened to be going, yada, yada. On the outside I would be like it's not big deal and inside I would silently, secretly grouch about the giant box store and suddenly catch myself. I would tell myself, Don't you dare complain about a few things from the store--you have it easy! That was in the beginning. As I grew up, I offered to pick up things from the grocery store for Mom, not just Darrell's cigarettes and cases of apple juice. I'd buy her sugar free chocolate covered peanuts because I knew it was her favorite little treat and stuff like that just may help a person get through the day.
I'm not trying to brag on myself at all. I'm trying to explain what a person can do for another. It's the small gestures that make a world of difference for a person that's hurting and exhausted. Go the store and buy that person's dog food and paper plates!
Before Darrell had passed, Mom asked him to send her a sign. "Well, what do you want me to send?" he asked. Mom thought about it and suggested butterflies. SHe admitted later that she could have come up with something more obscure, but oh well. She complained to me on the phone that she hasn't seen a single butterfly and Christy has been seeing them ALL OVER THE PLACE! On one trip to Buckholts, I saw eight fly directly in front of my car on the highway. They were all monarchs and I felt as though I had remembered something about monarch butterflies migrating to Mexico int he fall and set aside this thought.
One day last week, Mom had forgotten about the highway constructiuon and absetmindly forgot her back way route. Sitting ont he highway, trapped, waiting for a single lane to open up, a singular yellow butterfly flitting all around her truck for the entire time that she sat there.
Darrell's scattering is supposed to be November 2nd. Darrell's eldest, Justing didn't want to do it in October because his own son was born in October and he couldn't do it doing his son's "birthay month". Whatever, dude. You really can't plan when a person passes and in normal circumstances, you don't plan when the funeral will be. He's just always have to have his way. He hasn't changed a bit since we were kids. I'm proud to say I am no longer the six year old throwing fits. I wish I could say the same for the rest of them.
It's rained a lot though. Where Darrell marked for his ashes to scatter has no paved, or even gravel roads. It's just dirt. Lots and lots of dirt and dirt roads for travel. If the rain continues, we'll have to push it back another week or so until it's dry enough to drive a passenger vehicle out there. We've had dry beautiful days, "Darrell Weather" we call it, but oh no! We can't scatter the man's ashes int he same month that Justin's kid was born in like, 10 years ago. Stubborn, selfish, twit.
The tray for our keyboard broke so the key board is sitting on top of the desk. My hands positively ache and my back feels as though I offended it and it's out for revenge. My future writings may be kept very, very short for this reason. I hope we find another free desk!
Inside the card, Mom wrote: Dear Shawn & Misty, I can't begin to tell you both how much we truly appreciate all you did during Darrell's illness. All of the "Sam's runs" for Darrell & most of all for the many visits and letting me cry on your precious shoulders so many times! I know you both loved him as he did you both too. I could never have made it without y'all. May God bless you both each day and we love you both! --Mom & Dad
I had barely began reading it before I started sobbing. I even told Mom that I'm not one for keeping greeting cards, but this one was surely a keeper. Occasionally she would call me at work and ask if I could pick up something at Sam's. Of course she would tell me not to go out of my way, only if I happened to be going, yada, yada. On the outside I would be like it's not big deal and inside I would silently, secretly grouch about the giant box store and suddenly catch myself. I would tell myself, Don't you dare complain about a few things from the store--you have it easy! That was in the beginning. As I grew up, I offered to pick up things from the grocery store for Mom, not just Darrell's cigarettes and cases of apple juice. I'd buy her sugar free chocolate covered peanuts because I knew it was her favorite little treat and stuff like that just may help a person get through the day.
I'm not trying to brag on myself at all. I'm trying to explain what a person can do for another. It's the small gestures that make a world of difference for a person that's hurting and exhausted. Go the store and buy that person's dog food and paper plates!
Before Darrell had passed, Mom asked him to send her a sign. "Well, what do you want me to send?" he asked. Mom thought about it and suggested butterflies. SHe admitted later that she could have come up with something more obscure, but oh well. She complained to me on the phone that she hasn't seen a single butterfly and Christy has been seeing them ALL OVER THE PLACE! On one trip to Buckholts, I saw eight fly directly in front of my car on the highway. They were all monarchs and I felt as though I had remembered something about monarch butterflies migrating to Mexico int he fall and set aside this thought.
One day last week, Mom had forgotten about the highway constructiuon and absetmindly forgot her back way route. Sitting ont he highway, trapped, waiting for a single lane to open up, a singular yellow butterfly flitting all around her truck for the entire time that she sat there.
Darrell's scattering is supposed to be November 2nd. Darrell's eldest, Justing didn't want to do it in October because his own son was born in October and he couldn't do it doing his son's "birthay month". Whatever, dude. You really can't plan when a person passes and in normal circumstances, you don't plan when the funeral will be. He's just always have to have his way. He hasn't changed a bit since we were kids. I'm proud to say I am no longer the six year old throwing fits. I wish I could say the same for the rest of them.
It's rained a lot though. Where Darrell marked for his ashes to scatter has no paved, or even gravel roads. It's just dirt. Lots and lots of dirt and dirt roads for travel. If the rain continues, we'll have to push it back another week or so until it's dry enough to drive a passenger vehicle out there. We've had dry beautiful days, "Darrell Weather" we call it, but oh no! We can't scatter the man's ashes int he same month that Justin's kid was born in like, 10 years ago. Stubborn, selfish, twit.
The tray for our keyboard broke so the key board is sitting on top of the desk. My hands positively ache and my back feels as though I offended it and it's out for revenge. My future writings may be kept very, very short for this reason. I hope we find another free desk!
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
As of Lately
I expressed my concern for Mom once the barage of people filtering in and out of the house was over. Dad is thinking she'll be OK. That much remains to be seen. She was getting that sound in her voice last night as she stated it would be first night she's been alone since Darrell moved in. I reassured her that she could call me anytime if she became lonely. Kathy had stopped by and as soon as Mom spotted her, she teared up. "If my coming by is going to make you upset, I'll not come over any more," Kathy said, dead seriously. Mom opened the front door wide and commanded Kathy inside. She promised Kathy some day they'll go to lunch as well.
Kathy wasn't sure Mom would be able to take any more. She said she'd never seen anyone like Darrell go on for this long. The doctor had said the same. Mom had admitted to me that she had grown exhausted and was so tired she seriously didn't care if she lived or died. I can only imagine how Darrell waisting away before her eyes had drained her physically, emotionally and spiritually. "I had no idea, no clue how hard this was gonna be," Mom told me. Dad had asked her if she'd known, would it have changed her mind about doing it. "No," she said firmly.
Monday night, for the first time since April, Mom went to bed at ( PM. For the first time in 2 months, she slept in her own bed. The next day on the phone, she sounded like whole new person. She'd been staying up till ten, then midnight for medication dispensing, then up at 6 am again for more meds. The sleep is well deserved.
There have been many generous gifts from local people, people who knew Darrell. One of their neighbors who is distantly related to our family (somehow) sent over some SPanish rice with chicken and a check for $25. Mom had placed in the obituary that donations may be made to the South Elm Cemetary Fund or Scott & Hospice (which donates a TV to a patient should they desperately need one, and grants small last wishes both on a very picky basis). The Pay To area was left blank. The enighbor called and said the money was for my parents, that they should do something together with it.
Dale and Becky, Darrell's former employers from the way back stopped by because they'd seen the newspaper. Mom explained how Darrell's family came one day and took all his money and his wallet. (Betty had even cleared the pocket change on the dresser) All fo Darrell's phone numbers were in that wallet and she had no way of calling anyone. Becky expressed her dislike for Betty. After all they had done to help her out, Becky said, Betty never so much as offered a single "thank you". "But," Becky also said, "I would have thought she'd have at least the decentcy to have called us!" Mom described her little outburst to Betty and Becky replied to her very simply, "Lock. Your. Doors."
I've never understood how someone like Darrell ended up married to a person like Betty. Never got it. The funeral director in charge of the cremation had stopped by the house as well. As it turns out, he also had attened the funeral directory at the place where so many of my family members were handled. He and Mom recognized each other instantly, even though this was all going on in a whole other city. He stopped by to deliver the bill for the obituary and told Mom that Betty had finally called him.
He said Betty sounded as though she were as intoxicated as a person could be and only understood about half of what she actually said. She said she and Justin would be by to sign the paperwork, even though all this could be done by fax. The man told mom that legally, since she is Darrell's wife on paper, if she asked for the ashes, he had to give them to her. If she neither of them asks for the ashes, he promised, unsolicited to bring them by my parents' home. He sounds like a sweet man.
At some point, Betty called MOm and while everything was cordial she asked Mom a strnage question. She asked MOm if Darrell had ever said anything about a phgoto of him and his dog Tootsie to be placed with the ashes. Mom answered honestly and that he'd enver said anything about it to her. I d=found it odd because Darrell intended for the ashes to be returned to the earth where he grew up. Mom suggested to me that Justin and Betty might still do this and simply not notify the rest of us.
I became upset over something that hasn't even happened (yet) and MOm reminded me that if that happeens we'll just go out by ourselves; we don't need ashes the ashes are just ashes. I still felt like this could be a very probable thing to happen and it would be very sorry. As much as my parents have done! Really!
I wouldn't put it past them though.
Kathy wasn't sure Mom would be able to take any more. She said she'd never seen anyone like Darrell go on for this long. The doctor had said the same. Mom had admitted to me that she had grown exhausted and was so tired she seriously didn't care if she lived or died. I can only imagine how Darrell waisting away before her eyes had drained her physically, emotionally and spiritually. "I had no idea, no clue how hard this was gonna be," Mom told me. Dad had asked her if she'd known, would it have changed her mind about doing it. "No," she said firmly.
Monday night, for the first time since April, Mom went to bed at ( PM. For the first time in 2 months, she slept in her own bed. The next day on the phone, she sounded like whole new person. She'd been staying up till ten, then midnight for medication dispensing, then up at 6 am again for more meds. The sleep is well deserved.
There have been many generous gifts from local people, people who knew Darrell. One of their neighbors who is distantly related to our family (somehow) sent over some SPanish rice with chicken and a check for $25. Mom had placed in the obituary that donations may be made to the South Elm Cemetary Fund or Scott & Hospice (which donates a TV to a patient should they desperately need one, and grants small last wishes both on a very picky basis). The Pay To area was left blank. The enighbor called and said the money was for my parents, that they should do something together with it.
Dale and Becky, Darrell's former employers from the way back stopped by because they'd seen the newspaper. Mom explained how Darrell's family came one day and took all his money and his wallet. (Betty had even cleared the pocket change on the dresser) All fo Darrell's phone numbers were in that wallet and she had no way of calling anyone. Becky expressed her dislike for Betty. After all they had done to help her out, Becky said, Betty never so much as offered a single "thank you". "But," Becky also said, "I would have thought she'd have at least the decentcy to have called us!" Mom described her little outburst to Betty and Becky replied to her very simply, "Lock. Your. Doors."
I've never understood how someone like Darrell ended up married to a person like Betty. Never got it. The funeral director in charge of the cremation had stopped by the house as well. As it turns out, he also had attened the funeral directory at the place where so many of my family members were handled. He and Mom recognized each other instantly, even though this was all going on in a whole other city. He stopped by to deliver the bill for the obituary and told Mom that Betty had finally called him.
He said Betty sounded as though she were as intoxicated as a person could be and only understood about half of what she actually said. She said she and Justin would be by to sign the paperwork, even though all this could be done by fax. The man told mom that legally, since she is Darrell's wife on paper, if she asked for the ashes, he had to give them to her. If she neither of them asks for the ashes, he promised, unsolicited to bring them by my parents' home. He sounds like a sweet man.
At some point, Betty called MOm and while everything was cordial she asked Mom a strnage question. She asked MOm if Darrell had ever said anything about a phgoto of him and his dog Tootsie to be placed with the ashes. Mom answered honestly and that he'd enver said anything about it to her. I d=found it odd because Darrell intended for the ashes to be returned to the earth where he grew up. Mom suggested to me that Justin and Betty might still do this and simply not notify the rest of us.
I became upset over something that hasn't even happened (yet) and MOm reminded me that if that happeens we'll just go out by ourselves; we don't need ashes the ashes are just ashes. I still felt like this could be a very probable thing to happen and it would be very sorry. As much as my parents have done! Really!
I wouldn't put it past them though.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Hi. My name is Larry. This is my brother Daryl; this my other borther Daryl.
Saturday night, October 5th Shawn was waking me up at 10:30 PM. He kept telling me to sit up. I don't know why but I thought something was wrong with my pillows and he was going to fix them. I propped myself up one elbow. "Hmmuh?" I managed. "Um," Shawn replied. "Darrell has passed."
Shawn was convinced I'd want to get dressed and hop int he car. I called my dad and explained I had overdone it on it the Benadryl, a sleep aid I'd been using for over a year. My parents actually didnt want us coming out. They had many things to take of and so it worked out for me to chat with SHawn for a few minuets and go back to bed.
I awoke to a small dog walking around my pillow, standing on (and pulling) my hair. I rolled over onto my belly and looked straight into Zoe's eyes, then the clock. 5:52 AM. Oh well, I thought. I should get tot he grocery store and get the things Mom needed. I was fine until I got in the car and the song "Yellow" by Coldplay came on. Tears formed in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. And I really fuckin' hate that song--I always have. "Look at the stars, how they shine for yooooooo," that's all it took.
I'd picked up some cameras and printed some signs, warning that cameras were about. Mom was ultra paranoid Betty would retaliate somehow and hurt one of her animals. "She knows how dear these animals are to me!" Mom said. Once at Mom's, I was overcome with how strange everything was.
When Darrell moved in, it was strange just him being there. I had barely seen him over the last twenty years and then here he was. It wasn't as though he didn't belong it was just strange. And now, the air conditioner was shut off, the windows and doors were open, letting in a cool breeze. The bedding on the couch was gone, the mattress on the floor was gone and the hodge podge of medications had been erased from the counter and kitchen table. It seemed so strange.
Amy, an old longtime friend of Darrell's sat the table with our cousin Kenny. Christy and Dearl Crawford soon filled chairs and we laughed and cried and laughed and cried. I actually didn't start crying until Christy and Amy began talking about how strong Mom was was and someone said what a "rock" I had been and then the rock began to cry. Dearl and Christy and Amy had all been old buddies of Darrell's and we've all gotten to know them a good bit. I am glad to have gotten to know these people. Despite their faults, they're good people.
"If it wasn't for you, Darrell wouldn't have been here and I thank you so much for that," Mom cried to Crawford. I've trained most people in saying Crawford to avoid confusion when speaking of Dearl--it always messed me up! Christy began the story of how she kept Darrell awake. It amazed me how Christy can tell a story of an attempted suicide and have us all laughing from beginning to end--this is why I like her so much.
It all began about 3 or 4 years ago. It's difficult for me to keep track of time. Betty had left Darrell and he was sleeping on friend's couches, in his truck, in rat hole motels. His tools had been stolen and life in general sucked. He called Crawford and said he was "gonna do it" and that he was in a place where they used to have a lot of fun. Mom drove in the wrong direction, thinking he'd went to the old farm. Crawford and Christy drove to a remote are they had hung out in as teenagers. Darrell had fought Christy over another handful of pills, he claimed he was thirty. She refused to give him water. SHe told Crawford to smack Darrell int he face and he slapped him lightly. "NO! NOT LIKE THAT!" Christy yelled. "LIKE THIS!!" and she drew he arm back and slapped my uncle like an angry wife.
She was trying to keep him awake until the ambulence arrived. She finally got Darrell on his feet and to keep him there and conscious, she would continuously grab chunks of his flesh and pinch--and twist. This description of the story really got us howling around the table.
Of course it was soon after that everyone had noticed a slight abrasion on Darrell's face that never healed and began to seep. Even after his attempted suicide, Darrell continued to bounce from couch to couch until after a long stay with one of the cousins, he gave into Mom's wishes. We dreaded the times he'd want to stay with Betty because he always came back in worse condition. And later, as his condition worsen naturally, Betty would have someone drive her over so she could pick pocket. That morning Mom finally told off Betty, she told her that everyone knew the only reason she ever came around was for money. And it's very true and EVERYONE knows that.
"All that stuff just keeps playing over and over in my mind," Mom said, earlier Saturday morning. "Betty said a neighbor was baking a cake. 'I ain't baking any cake!!' He didn't even get a cake that year so I guess that's why I bought such a huge one this time." Every rotten thing Betty had ever done was playing like a record in my mom's mind, ever since she'd told her off. "You asked me if I felt better? Yes and no. I feel guilty." You see it isn't like Mom to tell someone off. "I have NEVER had such hatred in my heart. Ever!"
People filtered in and out with gifts of food. Many of us ate as a way to fidget, something to do with our hands and mouths while others spoke. Speaking for Shawn and myself, we went home feeling like it was Thanksgiving dinner all day. Amy had showed up with ten breakfast tacos first thing and they were so awesome! After a couple hours I made a grab at a second one and my mom laughed at me. "They might go bad. I'll see to it that they don't spoil," I joked. Afterward, others were inclined for a second taco.
Darrell's sons, Justin and Josh had neither called nor bothered to do...well, anything at all. It's exactly as Mom put it. They live their own lives as if nothing is wrong. Neither of them called to say thank you for taking care of my dad. Neither of them called to say, are you alright?
Dad spoke to Justin's wife, Nikki, a few minuets after it had happened. She said they'd probably be over the next day. Around 4pm, still nothing. Mom called Nikki and it was whopper of a story. Nikki and Justin had seperated (again) but Justin didn't want a single soul to know. I thought it was a bit rude of Nikki to wait for Mom to call her after we spent the whole day assuming they would all be over--for what, I don't know.
Mom didn't speak to either of the sons. This isn't uncommon or even unexpected after the way they've generally behaved this whole time (I'll spare the boring details). For some reason (God only knows why) Darrell made Justin the executor of his estate--which doesn't mean much really because everything Darrell owned was in my old bedroom and amounted to clothes and basic necessities. However, Justin needed to sign some papers in order for the cremation to proceed. Mom made this very clear to NIkki and since they live a two hours' drive away, that everything could be done by fax.
Mom had said our cousin Judy was once executor of Darrell's estate and we wished it were still in effect. Judy would have everything taken care of in a timely, grown-up manner. Nikki had also told Mom that Justin refused to scatter the ashes in October because that was his son's birthday month.
This got everyone in the house riled. Dad immediately began to spew all sorts of obscentties regarding this news and once inside called them "mother fuckers" and how they're so "fucking stupid". Something to that degree. I've heard my dad drop the F Bomb maybe--maybe twice in my 32 years of life and now once by my mother. This is what these people do good kind folks like my parents.
You don't get to decide when a person dies. Often it happens inconviently. I am wondering if Justin takes off an entire month to celebrate his son's birthday. The ashes ought to be scattered within the next 2 weeks so we can gain closure. Many of these things were said.
Months ago, Darrell and Dad went out to where he and Mom grew up on the old farm. He marked a spot specifically and Dad placed a flag in the ground. For months he had told us all, do it whenever, just not in the rain. Justin had concocted something and said Darrell wanted to be scattered in the spring time. Mom argued with him over it, made sure with Darrell--and sure enough it was just something Justin had made up. Some had thought this whole "birthday month" was a way to "get at" my parents. Shawn was outraged and told them both, "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you didn't do right by Darrell!" Later in the car he said to me, "If any one of them ever says anything about your parents, it's on!!"
I suggested that this is merely Justin getting his way. He did this to me all the time when we were kids. If he wasn't getting his way, he'd make me miserable until it was going his way. I think this whole "birthday month" bull shit is just him trying to get his way. "He was an asshole when we were kids and he's still an asshole. He hasn't changed a bit," I said. And of course, the meth usage had made him a "waste of space and air" also my words.
Apparently when Justin would once in a blue moon drive this way, he'd pick up Betty and they'd hang out and smoke meth like they were old chums. When this was first discovered some months back we were startled by it because Justin and Betty had hated each other for more years than I know. Suddenly they're BFFs.
Mom invited my sister who is married to Shawn's brother, Bob and the 3 youngest kids (the eldest is away at school) to help eat up some of this food. At some time Bob said to Shawn, "Sheila doesn't seem to want anything to do with this whole Darrell thing." Shawn suggested that means Bob doesn't know that Sheila had stolen morphine from Darrell for 3 months and was quietly banned from my parents' home. The twins knew about it because they were in the back room, playing Mom's keyboard when Mom caught my sister stealing pills. She kept her voice very quiet though. The girls confirmed to Mom a couple months later they had heard, alright.
Mom forced Sheila to go outside and apologize to Darrell. Darrell didn't want anyone to know about it because he didn't want anyone to think badly of her. I got news for ya, I've known about her booze and pill habit for a loooooooong time. I just never thought she'd steal pain pills from a dying man. It was around this time that Mom relaized how bad it was. Sheila blabbed a secret to Mom as an excuse. "You just don't know what I'm going through!" she cried.
Bull shit. The girls told me something secret that I kept to myself for nearly a year. It ate me up. I couldn't help them inthe way that I wanted to. I went over there and they asked that I would tell Sheila. As a group, we did, though the words came from my mouth. Sheila didn't seem so interested about it the next day. It was simply an excuse and I never intended for Mom--of all people--to find out. From there I explained how bad things had gotten and that's why we've been getting kids over for frequent sleep overs. Shawn still doesn't know about the girls, but he knows about the booze and drugs. God help us all if Shawn found out. Anyway, he agreed it would be good to make sure we keep a close base with the kids from now on.
So, at this point, everyone pretty much knows how much a loser junkie she is and hasn't back inside that house until the day after my uncle passed away. Maybe Bob knows she stole all those pills and doesn't understand why she wasn't upset about Darrell. Of course, she's never been that upset about much since she discovered the numbing qualitities of drugs and alcohol.
It still disgusts me. The day he had a skin graft on his face, I was there. I walked into the recovery room and thank God Darrell was knocked out and asleep because the instant I saw him, I cried. How my sister can have no thought or cares for anyone (including herself) is beyond me. I stopped caring a long time ago. When she didn't get those girls help, when she stole from my uncle, I stopped caring. I couldn't explain to Mom why we never spoke. She'd always go on about the distance between her and Darrell for so many years and I couldn't tell her. Why should I worry her? What good would it have done? My sister slit her wrists some years back--the kids own father dragged them into the bathroom and told them to look at what their mother had done.
Shawn and I had agreed long ago that when that little slip up happens, whatever it is, those kids will be living with us. One little minor thing is all that's left. One of the girls had once told me that I was more of a mom to her than her own mother. It felt good but also broke my damn heart. I cried over it because I always had a good mom. I don't know what happened to our family.
Monday was hard. I hadn't slept much and I was still grieving. I was at work for a whole eight hours until I told my boss. Just thinking of telling him made me cry. I knew I had to tell him because he's always real good at asking, "How's your uncle?" Once upstairs, I could feel the tears forming behind my eyes and once again every inch of my skin was screaming at me, "Get outta there! Run!" I had to leave before I cried like an idiot.
It's amazing to me how close me and Darrell had grown. He was around, he disapeared for twenty years and suddenly was part of my life again. Cancer is not the easiest thing to deal with. It's certainly not easy to watch someone whither and die. At least I could always leave at the end of the day; my parents could not. As hard as all this has been, I'm eternally grateful for the time we gained with Darrell. If he had not gotten sick, he would not have reconciled with my mother. He would still be a stranger to me and I would not know how to make potato soup (his special request early on).
Darrell's friends, Amy, Crawford and Christy might be strangers to me if not for that fateful day in the middle of no where. "It wasn't his time," Christy said. It wasn't. I'd grown deeply attached to my uncle, once again. It was very hard to see him in that state near the end but I wouldn't trade it for anything. I wouldn't trade running to the store for apple juice and cigarettes and countless runs to the gorcery store. I wouldn't trade the one time I put together a joint for him at my mother's kitchen table (something I NEVER thought I'd do) and I wouldn't trade sitting out in the heat with him while he smoked.
I wouldn't trade any of it. I'm glad for the times we shared and the times he made me laugh so hard. After all this time, I think to this very day my fondest memory of Darrell was after his skin graft surgery. I didn't know him at the time but he felt comfortable enough to warn me of the high level of water in the toilet. He told me he'd dipped his balls in the cold water a few times--his words. I laughed from embarssment.
After a week, his long hair had become matted and tangled. I brushed it for an hour and he hollered so loudly I thought they might throw us all out of the hospital! "Yeeeeoooooo!" he'd holler. And I'd laugh uncontrollably. Darrell would look at Mom in bewilderment. "She thinks it's funny!" The more he hollered, the more I'd laugh.
For this, yes, I am glad he got sick. He might've offed himself some other time and this time would have been stolen from us. There's not a doubt in my mind where Darrell is today. I know where he is. I like to think there's a special table in Heaven for the cancer warriors of my family. I picture a cafeteria, very large and somewhere in this room is a large round table and seated at it are all the members of my family that had suffered and felt so much pain.
And they are all laughing and having a good time.
Shawn was convinced I'd want to get dressed and hop int he car. I called my dad and explained I had overdone it on it the Benadryl, a sleep aid I'd been using for over a year. My parents actually didnt want us coming out. They had many things to take of and so it worked out for me to chat with SHawn for a few minuets and go back to bed.
I awoke to a small dog walking around my pillow, standing on (and pulling) my hair. I rolled over onto my belly and looked straight into Zoe's eyes, then the clock. 5:52 AM. Oh well, I thought. I should get tot he grocery store and get the things Mom needed. I was fine until I got in the car and the song "Yellow" by Coldplay came on. Tears formed in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. And I really fuckin' hate that song--I always have. "Look at the stars, how they shine for yooooooo," that's all it took.
I'd picked up some cameras and printed some signs, warning that cameras were about. Mom was ultra paranoid Betty would retaliate somehow and hurt one of her animals. "She knows how dear these animals are to me!" Mom said. Once at Mom's, I was overcome with how strange everything was.
When Darrell moved in, it was strange just him being there. I had barely seen him over the last twenty years and then here he was. It wasn't as though he didn't belong it was just strange. And now, the air conditioner was shut off, the windows and doors were open, letting in a cool breeze. The bedding on the couch was gone, the mattress on the floor was gone and the hodge podge of medications had been erased from the counter and kitchen table. It seemed so strange.
Amy, an old longtime friend of Darrell's sat the table with our cousin Kenny. Christy and Dearl Crawford soon filled chairs and we laughed and cried and laughed and cried. I actually didn't start crying until Christy and Amy began talking about how strong Mom was was and someone said what a "rock" I had been and then the rock began to cry. Dearl and Christy and Amy had all been old buddies of Darrell's and we've all gotten to know them a good bit. I am glad to have gotten to know these people. Despite their faults, they're good people.
"If it wasn't for you, Darrell wouldn't have been here and I thank you so much for that," Mom cried to Crawford. I've trained most people in saying Crawford to avoid confusion when speaking of Dearl--it always messed me up! Christy began the story of how she kept Darrell awake. It amazed me how Christy can tell a story of an attempted suicide and have us all laughing from beginning to end--this is why I like her so much.
It all began about 3 or 4 years ago. It's difficult for me to keep track of time. Betty had left Darrell and he was sleeping on friend's couches, in his truck, in rat hole motels. His tools had been stolen and life in general sucked. He called Crawford and said he was "gonna do it" and that he was in a place where they used to have a lot of fun. Mom drove in the wrong direction, thinking he'd went to the old farm. Crawford and Christy drove to a remote are they had hung out in as teenagers. Darrell had fought Christy over another handful of pills, he claimed he was thirty. She refused to give him water. SHe told Crawford to smack Darrell int he face and he slapped him lightly. "NO! NOT LIKE THAT!" Christy yelled. "LIKE THIS!!" and she drew he arm back and slapped my uncle like an angry wife.
She was trying to keep him awake until the ambulence arrived. She finally got Darrell on his feet and to keep him there and conscious, she would continuously grab chunks of his flesh and pinch--and twist. This description of the story really got us howling around the table.
Of course it was soon after that everyone had noticed a slight abrasion on Darrell's face that never healed and began to seep. Even after his attempted suicide, Darrell continued to bounce from couch to couch until after a long stay with one of the cousins, he gave into Mom's wishes. We dreaded the times he'd want to stay with Betty because he always came back in worse condition. And later, as his condition worsen naturally, Betty would have someone drive her over so she could pick pocket. That morning Mom finally told off Betty, she told her that everyone knew the only reason she ever came around was for money. And it's very true and EVERYONE knows that.
"All that stuff just keeps playing over and over in my mind," Mom said, earlier Saturday morning. "Betty said a neighbor was baking a cake. 'I ain't baking any cake!!' He didn't even get a cake that year so I guess that's why I bought such a huge one this time." Every rotten thing Betty had ever done was playing like a record in my mom's mind, ever since she'd told her off. "You asked me if I felt better? Yes and no. I feel guilty." You see it isn't like Mom to tell someone off. "I have NEVER had such hatred in my heart. Ever!"
People filtered in and out with gifts of food. Many of us ate as a way to fidget, something to do with our hands and mouths while others spoke. Speaking for Shawn and myself, we went home feeling like it was Thanksgiving dinner all day. Amy had showed up with ten breakfast tacos first thing and they were so awesome! After a couple hours I made a grab at a second one and my mom laughed at me. "They might go bad. I'll see to it that they don't spoil," I joked. Afterward, others were inclined for a second taco.
Darrell's sons, Justin and Josh had neither called nor bothered to do...well, anything at all. It's exactly as Mom put it. They live their own lives as if nothing is wrong. Neither of them called to say thank you for taking care of my dad. Neither of them called to say, are you alright?
Dad spoke to Justin's wife, Nikki, a few minuets after it had happened. She said they'd probably be over the next day. Around 4pm, still nothing. Mom called Nikki and it was whopper of a story. Nikki and Justin had seperated (again) but Justin didn't want a single soul to know. I thought it was a bit rude of Nikki to wait for Mom to call her after we spent the whole day assuming they would all be over--for what, I don't know.
Mom didn't speak to either of the sons. This isn't uncommon or even unexpected after the way they've generally behaved this whole time (I'll spare the boring details). For some reason (God only knows why) Darrell made Justin the executor of his estate--which doesn't mean much really because everything Darrell owned was in my old bedroom and amounted to clothes and basic necessities. However, Justin needed to sign some papers in order for the cremation to proceed. Mom made this very clear to NIkki and since they live a two hours' drive away, that everything could be done by fax.
Mom had said our cousin Judy was once executor of Darrell's estate and we wished it were still in effect. Judy would have everything taken care of in a timely, grown-up manner. Nikki had also told Mom that Justin refused to scatter the ashes in October because that was his son's birthday month.
This got everyone in the house riled. Dad immediately began to spew all sorts of obscentties regarding this news and once inside called them "mother fuckers" and how they're so "fucking stupid". Something to that degree. I've heard my dad drop the F Bomb maybe--maybe twice in my 32 years of life and now once by my mother. This is what these people do good kind folks like my parents.
You don't get to decide when a person dies. Often it happens inconviently. I am wondering if Justin takes off an entire month to celebrate his son's birthday. The ashes ought to be scattered within the next 2 weeks so we can gain closure. Many of these things were said.
Months ago, Darrell and Dad went out to where he and Mom grew up on the old farm. He marked a spot specifically and Dad placed a flag in the ground. For months he had told us all, do it whenever, just not in the rain. Justin had concocted something and said Darrell wanted to be scattered in the spring time. Mom argued with him over it, made sure with Darrell--and sure enough it was just something Justin had made up. Some had thought this whole "birthday month" was a way to "get at" my parents. Shawn was outraged and told them both, "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you didn't do right by Darrell!" Later in the car he said to me, "If any one of them ever says anything about your parents, it's on!!"
I suggested that this is merely Justin getting his way. He did this to me all the time when we were kids. If he wasn't getting his way, he'd make me miserable until it was going his way. I think this whole "birthday month" bull shit is just him trying to get his way. "He was an asshole when we were kids and he's still an asshole. He hasn't changed a bit," I said. And of course, the meth usage had made him a "waste of space and air" also my words.
Apparently when Justin would once in a blue moon drive this way, he'd pick up Betty and they'd hang out and smoke meth like they were old chums. When this was first discovered some months back we were startled by it because Justin and Betty had hated each other for more years than I know. Suddenly they're BFFs.
Mom invited my sister who is married to Shawn's brother, Bob and the 3 youngest kids (the eldest is away at school) to help eat up some of this food. At some time Bob said to Shawn, "Sheila doesn't seem to want anything to do with this whole Darrell thing." Shawn suggested that means Bob doesn't know that Sheila had stolen morphine from Darrell for 3 months and was quietly banned from my parents' home. The twins knew about it because they were in the back room, playing Mom's keyboard when Mom caught my sister stealing pills. She kept her voice very quiet though. The girls confirmed to Mom a couple months later they had heard, alright.
Mom forced Sheila to go outside and apologize to Darrell. Darrell didn't want anyone to know about it because he didn't want anyone to think badly of her. I got news for ya, I've known about her booze and pill habit for a loooooooong time. I just never thought she'd steal pain pills from a dying man. It was around this time that Mom relaized how bad it was. Sheila blabbed a secret to Mom as an excuse. "You just don't know what I'm going through!" she cried.
Bull shit. The girls told me something secret that I kept to myself for nearly a year. It ate me up. I couldn't help them inthe way that I wanted to. I went over there and they asked that I would tell Sheila. As a group, we did, though the words came from my mouth. Sheila didn't seem so interested about it the next day. It was simply an excuse and I never intended for Mom--of all people--to find out. From there I explained how bad things had gotten and that's why we've been getting kids over for frequent sleep overs. Shawn still doesn't know about the girls, but he knows about the booze and drugs. God help us all if Shawn found out. Anyway, he agreed it would be good to make sure we keep a close base with the kids from now on.
So, at this point, everyone pretty much knows how much a loser junkie she is and hasn't back inside that house until the day after my uncle passed away. Maybe Bob knows she stole all those pills and doesn't understand why she wasn't upset about Darrell. Of course, she's never been that upset about much since she discovered the numbing qualitities of drugs and alcohol.
It still disgusts me. The day he had a skin graft on his face, I was there. I walked into the recovery room and thank God Darrell was knocked out and asleep because the instant I saw him, I cried. How my sister can have no thought or cares for anyone (including herself) is beyond me. I stopped caring a long time ago. When she didn't get those girls help, when she stole from my uncle, I stopped caring. I couldn't explain to Mom why we never spoke. She'd always go on about the distance between her and Darrell for so many years and I couldn't tell her. Why should I worry her? What good would it have done? My sister slit her wrists some years back--the kids own father dragged them into the bathroom and told them to look at what their mother had done.
Shawn and I had agreed long ago that when that little slip up happens, whatever it is, those kids will be living with us. One little minor thing is all that's left. One of the girls had once told me that I was more of a mom to her than her own mother. It felt good but also broke my damn heart. I cried over it because I always had a good mom. I don't know what happened to our family.
Monday was hard. I hadn't slept much and I was still grieving. I was at work for a whole eight hours until I told my boss. Just thinking of telling him made me cry. I knew I had to tell him because he's always real good at asking, "How's your uncle?" Once upstairs, I could feel the tears forming behind my eyes and once again every inch of my skin was screaming at me, "Get outta there! Run!" I had to leave before I cried like an idiot.
It's amazing to me how close me and Darrell had grown. He was around, he disapeared for twenty years and suddenly was part of my life again. Cancer is not the easiest thing to deal with. It's certainly not easy to watch someone whither and die. At least I could always leave at the end of the day; my parents could not. As hard as all this has been, I'm eternally grateful for the time we gained with Darrell. If he had not gotten sick, he would not have reconciled with my mother. He would still be a stranger to me and I would not know how to make potato soup (his special request early on).
Darrell's friends, Amy, Crawford and Christy might be strangers to me if not for that fateful day in the middle of no where. "It wasn't his time," Christy said. It wasn't. I'd grown deeply attached to my uncle, once again. It was very hard to see him in that state near the end but I wouldn't trade it for anything. I wouldn't trade running to the store for apple juice and cigarettes and countless runs to the gorcery store. I wouldn't trade the one time I put together a joint for him at my mother's kitchen table (something I NEVER thought I'd do) and I wouldn't trade sitting out in the heat with him while he smoked.
I wouldn't trade any of it. I'm glad for the times we shared and the times he made me laugh so hard. After all this time, I think to this very day my fondest memory of Darrell was after his skin graft surgery. I didn't know him at the time but he felt comfortable enough to warn me of the high level of water in the toilet. He told me he'd dipped his balls in the cold water a few times--his words. I laughed from embarssment.
After a week, his long hair had become matted and tangled. I brushed it for an hour and he hollered so loudly I thought they might throw us all out of the hospital! "Yeeeeoooooo!" he'd holler. And I'd laugh uncontrollably. Darrell would look at Mom in bewilderment. "She thinks it's funny!" The more he hollered, the more I'd laugh.
For this, yes, I am glad he got sick. He might've offed himself some other time and this time would have been stolen from us. There's not a doubt in my mind where Darrell is today. I know where he is. I like to think there's a special table in Heaven for the cancer warriors of my family. I picture a cafeteria, very large and somewhere in this room is a large round table and seated at it are all the members of my family that had suffered and felt so much pain.
And they are all laughing and having a good time.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Screaming
What I write yesterday was ironic. Apparently early Friday morning around 6:30 am, Betty called & told Mom she'd tried to come over some time. Mom didn't really see the point since Betty had Darrell's card & when she does visit, she spend 90% of her time outside smoking crack. This is true. We drove up once and actually saw her doing so and smelled it from the drive way.
Mom told Betty that if she was willing to stay with Darrell and not be outside partying, she was more than welcome to come over, otherwise, not. This started a whole thing. Betty claimed the opposite; Mom stated that Betty hadn't done a single thing for Darrell since he'd gotten sick; Betty said she had done plenty (though she cited no examples) and in the end Mom said to her "Fuck you, bitch!" and hung up the phone.
Mom quoted this to me over the phone. I replied first with, "Whooooooooa." then I followed up with, "I'm so proud of you!" Dad and Shawn said the same to her while our good friend, Crawford (we named him that because his first name is Daryl and it minimizes the confusion) clapped for MOm over the phone. "You're a better person than I am because I would've done it a looooong time ago!" Shawn said.
Mom is concerned about retaliation. Betty called early this morning a little before 6 am demanding to speak with Darrell. Mom tried to explain that he cannot speak. SHe would hold the phone up for Darrell is Betty wanted to tell hims he loved him, Mom explained and Betty promptly hung up the phone. Mom is really, really paranoid of retribution and I reminded her that Betty has no car, lives 40 miles away and very few friends. However, Mom pointed out that Betty knows how much Mom cares for her animals and is still afraid she will retaliate. She looked toward her horse and donkey and said if one of them died and it wasn't because of collic, she'd drive to Belton and beat the shit outta that bitch. Her words, not mine.
I stated to Shawn I'd do the same. "Calm down," he said. "If anything happens, we'll all take this down to the cotten gin and settle it redneck style!" That made mom laugh.
When we first arrived this morning, Mom was already in tears. She quickly went outide and I followed. "Do you just want to be alone?" I asked. "NO!" she sobbed. We sat on the front steps and I put my arm around her as she sobbed and sobbed and cried and cried. She said she couldn't breathe inside. She'd been having asthma attacks and couldn't calm down. The only thing that broke it was when Molly, who'd previously decided to take a swim in the horse's water troff, decided to roll around in the dirt and decided that she wanted a hug from me. This made Mom laugh. That goofy dog finally got her to calm down.
"I don't know what I do without you, baby!" Mom said. "You just don't know what y'all coming over does for me!" She gripped me and cried some more. I reminded her to calm down so she could breathe properly. "I hope y'all are so blessed! I pray every day for you to be blessed!" It made me feel deeply ashamed for my anger towards God.
We hung out for a while. It was hard to look at Darrell. I hadn't seen him without a shirt on since he was a little fat. After the bathroom incident, Kathy fitted him with an adult diaper and showed Mom and Dad how to do it. After all the falls from him trying to escape in his confusion, Dad placed a matress on the living room floor. He can't roll of it and fall, he can't swing his legs from it and attempt to stand (and fall) and he can't get hurt. But this morning, it didn't really didn't look like Darrell would be going anyway, even onto his side.
His breast plate protruded from both ends and each rib could be counted. His arms were as thin as mine, the skin was thin and dry. Kathy left medication to help with the twitching and jerkiness; that seems to have calmed down since Wednesday and he was no longer talking gibberish in his sleep. His breath was labored. His right eye--the good one--remained closed, while the left, foggy eye remained open and confused looking.
Everything in my body screamed at me to get out of there. In all honesty, I wanted nothing to do with any of this. From the moment I arrived I wanted to leave. I wish this wasn't happening. I wish my mom wasn't crying like this, panicking for air. I wish my uncle, once so great and tall and with a fat belly wasn't lying on the floor struggling to breathe. My body screamed at me to run and never look back.
But I stayed. I held my mom. I cried. I held Darrell's hand. I didn't think he knew I was there. That's OK. I secretly resented him for giving Betty all his money. I watched his chest slowly rise and slowly fall. I cried some more.
I told Mom I'd get some security cameras and make some signs in case Betty decided to retaliate. It might change her mind. I'll be back in the morning, I said. Even without the reason for dropping off some stuff, I thought it might be a good idea if I made the drive once more on Sunday.
Mom told Betty that if she was willing to stay with Darrell and not be outside partying, she was more than welcome to come over, otherwise, not. This started a whole thing. Betty claimed the opposite; Mom stated that Betty hadn't done a single thing for Darrell since he'd gotten sick; Betty said she had done plenty (though she cited no examples) and in the end Mom said to her "Fuck you, bitch!" and hung up the phone.
Mom quoted this to me over the phone. I replied first with, "Whooooooooa." then I followed up with, "I'm so proud of you!" Dad and Shawn said the same to her while our good friend, Crawford (we named him that because his first name is Daryl and it minimizes the confusion) clapped for MOm over the phone. "You're a better person than I am because I would've done it a looooong time ago!" Shawn said.
Mom is concerned about retaliation. Betty called early this morning a little before 6 am demanding to speak with Darrell. Mom tried to explain that he cannot speak. SHe would hold the phone up for Darrell is Betty wanted to tell hims he loved him, Mom explained and Betty promptly hung up the phone. Mom is really, really paranoid of retribution and I reminded her that Betty has no car, lives 40 miles away and very few friends. However, Mom pointed out that Betty knows how much Mom cares for her animals and is still afraid she will retaliate. She looked toward her horse and donkey and said if one of them died and it wasn't because of collic, she'd drive to Belton and beat the shit outta that bitch. Her words, not mine.
I stated to Shawn I'd do the same. "Calm down," he said. "If anything happens, we'll all take this down to the cotten gin and settle it redneck style!" That made mom laugh.
When we first arrived this morning, Mom was already in tears. She quickly went outide and I followed. "Do you just want to be alone?" I asked. "NO!" she sobbed. We sat on the front steps and I put my arm around her as she sobbed and sobbed and cried and cried. She said she couldn't breathe inside. She'd been having asthma attacks and couldn't calm down. The only thing that broke it was when Molly, who'd previously decided to take a swim in the horse's water troff, decided to roll around in the dirt and decided that she wanted a hug from me. This made Mom laugh. That goofy dog finally got her to calm down.
"I don't know what I do without you, baby!" Mom said. "You just don't know what y'all coming over does for me!" She gripped me and cried some more. I reminded her to calm down so she could breathe properly. "I hope y'all are so blessed! I pray every day for you to be blessed!" It made me feel deeply ashamed for my anger towards God.
We hung out for a while. It was hard to look at Darrell. I hadn't seen him without a shirt on since he was a little fat. After the bathroom incident, Kathy fitted him with an adult diaper and showed Mom and Dad how to do it. After all the falls from him trying to escape in his confusion, Dad placed a matress on the living room floor. He can't roll of it and fall, he can't swing his legs from it and attempt to stand (and fall) and he can't get hurt. But this morning, it didn't really didn't look like Darrell would be going anyway, even onto his side.
His breast plate protruded from both ends and each rib could be counted. His arms were as thin as mine, the skin was thin and dry. Kathy left medication to help with the twitching and jerkiness; that seems to have calmed down since Wednesday and he was no longer talking gibberish in his sleep. His breath was labored. His right eye--the good one--remained closed, while the left, foggy eye remained open and confused looking.
Everything in my body screamed at me to get out of there. In all honesty, I wanted nothing to do with any of this. From the moment I arrived I wanted to leave. I wish this wasn't happening. I wish my mom wasn't crying like this, panicking for air. I wish my uncle, once so great and tall and with a fat belly wasn't lying on the floor struggling to breathe. My body screamed at me to run and never look back.
But I stayed. I held my mom. I cried. I held Darrell's hand. I didn't think he knew I was there. That's OK. I secretly resented him for giving Betty all his money. I watched his chest slowly rise and slowly fall. I cried some more.
I told Mom I'd get some security cameras and make some signs in case Betty decided to retaliate. It might change her mind. I'll be back in the morning, I said. Even without the reason for dropping off some stuff, I thought it might be a good idea if I made the drive once more on Sunday.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Broken. Again.
If you want to see what a person with a broken spirit looks like, visit my mom. As a child I was corrected many, many times on how wrong it is to use the word "hate". You can dislike someone, but you must never hate them. My mom is a good Christian woman who is generous and kind. This is not to paint her as a saint of any sort. By no means is she a saint. But her faith has always been very strong, unquestioning. She has short patience and curses now & then, though I've never once ever heard the F bomb come from her mouth. She is very sweet, almost to a fault, in the sense that I've offered to take up the slack and stand up for her.
With that said, this whole experience has changed her. She's very tired, you must understand. She's worn and broken. The last of her family, the very profile of her father lies on the couch, withering away, confused and anxious. She watches as the only proof she had a family deteriorates before her eyes. She questioned God when she watched her mother die slowly over a year's time. She became angry with God but slowly, her anger faded and her faith was renewed.
"I hate them. I even told the chaplain that; I hate them!" she said to me last night. I don't blame her. Darrell's ahem, wife, called early that morning and placed my mom in a foul mood. "She always calls at the worst possible time. It's like she knows!" The wife, Betty, abandoned Darrell, almost quite literally some years ago. He stayed with a bit after he became sick and she did not care for him, in a loving sense and also in a caregiver's meaning. She did not cook or wake him in the morning. She set the alarm clock and on more than one occasion told him to "pack your shit and go".
Betty's mood shifts around the third of each month as Darrell collects disability. She has squeezed money from him like sap from a tree and has placed it promptly into a meth pipe. "What has she got to do?" mom asked, exasperated. "Nothing! She goes to bed when she wants to, she does whatever she wants to! And the rest of them (Mom referring to Darrell's two sons) what have they done? No one, not one of them has ever offered me a hand. Nikki (a daughter-in-law of Darrell's) once offered to have me go take a nap--like that's gonna happen!--but she's the only one!"
We have scantly heard from either of Darrell's sons through this whole process. The eldest, has become great friends with Betty when he passes through. He once hated her until recent years when they figured out they had much more in common. The younger brother has had his ups and downs with substances but remains clean fro the moment, yet always has a habit of behaving childishly and following the route of peer pressure. Although the sons live a two hours' drive away, the phone rarely, rarely rings. And on that rare occasion they do show up, they avoid the inside of the house as though a plague were upon it.
Mom is quick to point out to me that she does not mean that Shawn or I haven't helped. She only refers to Darrell's family. I tell her I know. We thought the younger son might have a common sense of decency when we saw him crying so badly one day. He does what your supposed to do int his sort of situation as long as his brother or Betty aren't around. Otherwise, I've never seen family members behave in such a way when a close member lay dying. It's so odd.
The Chaplain stopped by, a measure of hospice services and he's a really nice man. He was a bit suprised to hear Mom say she hated everyone. I wasn't, so much. This has been building up for more than a year. Everyone's fake attitudes is beginning to wear on me. Their show of unconcern more than grates on me as they go about their own lives as though nothing were wrong. The younger brother shocked me when he once thanked me for picking up Darrell's apple juice and cigarettes. "It's the least I could do," I replied, thinking, YOU could show some concern & that would be the least you could do!
Any time everyone shows up and I happen to show up at the same time Mom reminds me gently to keep my mouth shut, "For Darrell's sake." Of course, I keep my mouth shut and I just as gently remind Mom that I'm a grown up and I'm not going to tell everyone exactly what I think of them until after Darrell has passed. I do have some control over my mouth, you know.
So Betty has Darell's cash card, a good thriteen or fourteen hundred she can smoke up in a week or two. That irritates me because Mom has taken care of Darrell and Betty has done nothing. They never asked for money but they've sure as hell spent a ton of it on food, water, electricity because Darrell's always hot, hot, hot and their whole house is like an ice box. While he was doling out cash at they end, before he went a little crazy, I feel as though he could have at least pushed a small stack towards my parents. But I don't say anything because I'm a grown up.
The night beofre last, Dad had taken yet another night off work and he dozed on one oend of the couch, my mom on the other. Eventually Darrell needed to be taken tot he bathroom and I'm unsure of the entire story, but he somehow managed to get piss all other bathroom from one end to the other, in the middle of the night. "He refuses to use that urinal--refuses!" Mom states. She also said he had one pillow that had soaked so thoroughly with blood, she simply threw it out. His ear continues to drain and it's mostly blood, rather than fluids and pus. I offered to clean it up for her. "I'd rather not look at it," she replied.
I mentioned the piss covered bathroom to Shawn in a tired sigh. "One day this will be funny," I said, dryly with not a hint of a smile to my expression. Even I'm not sure if I meant it or if I meant it to be sarcasm. I have a feeling none of this will be funny, even further down the road. And that's a shame, to be unable to laugh after all this. We've always had a knack for finding some way to laugh, even in dark humor, as time passes. I don't really see that happening.
With that said, this whole experience has changed her. She's very tired, you must understand. She's worn and broken. The last of her family, the very profile of her father lies on the couch, withering away, confused and anxious. She watches as the only proof she had a family deteriorates before her eyes. She questioned God when she watched her mother die slowly over a year's time. She became angry with God but slowly, her anger faded and her faith was renewed.
"I hate them. I even told the chaplain that; I hate them!" she said to me last night. I don't blame her. Darrell's ahem, wife, called early that morning and placed my mom in a foul mood. "She always calls at the worst possible time. It's like she knows!" The wife, Betty, abandoned Darrell, almost quite literally some years ago. He stayed with a bit after he became sick and she did not care for him, in a loving sense and also in a caregiver's meaning. She did not cook or wake him in the morning. She set the alarm clock and on more than one occasion told him to "pack your shit and go".
Betty's mood shifts around the third of each month as Darrell collects disability. She has squeezed money from him like sap from a tree and has placed it promptly into a meth pipe. "What has she got to do?" mom asked, exasperated. "Nothing! She goes to bed when she wants to, she does whatever she wants to! And the rest of them (Mom referring to Darrell's two sons) what have they done? No one, not one of them has ever offered me a hand. Nikki (a daughter-in-law of Darrell's) once offered to have me go take a nap--like that's gonna happen!--but she's the only one!"
We have scantly heard from either of Darrell's sons through this whole process. The eldest, has become great friends with Betty when he passes through. He once hated her until recent years when they figured out they had much more in common. The younger brother has had his ups and downs with substances but remains clean fro the moment, yet always has a habit of behaving childishly and following the route of peer pressure. Although the sons live a two hours' drive away, the phone rarely, rarely rings. And on that rare occasion they do show up, they avoid the inside of the house as though a plague were upon it.
Mom is quick to point out to me that she does not mean that Shawn or I haven't helped. She only refers to Darrell's family. I tell her I know. We thought the younger son might have a common sense of decency when we saw him crying so badly one day. He does what your supposed to do int his sort of situation as long as his brother or Betty aren't around. Otherwise, I've never seen family members behave in such a way when a close member lay dying. It's so odd.
The Chaplain stopped by, a measure of hospice services and he's a really nice man. He was a bit suprised to hear Mom say she hated everyone. I wasn't, so much. This has been building up for more than a year. Everyone's fake attitudes is beginning to wear on me. Their show of unconcern more than grates on me as they go about their own lives as though nothing were wrong. The younger brother shocked me when he once thanked me for picking up Darrell's apple juice and cigarettes. "It's the least I could do," I replied, thinking, YOU could show some concern & that would be the least you could do!
Any time everyone shows up and I happen to show up at the same time Mom reminds me gently to keep my mouth shut, "For Darrell's sake." Of course, I keep my mouth shut and I just as gently remind Mom that I'm a grown up and I'm not going to tell everyone exactly what I think of them until after Darrell has passed. I do have some control over my mouth, you know.
So Betty has Darell's cash card, a good thriteen or fourteen hundred she can smoke up in a week or two. That irritates me because Mom has taken care of Darrell and Betty has done nothing. They never asked for money but they've sure as hell spent a ton of it on food, water, electricity because Darrell's always hot, hot, hot and their whole house is like an ice box. While he was doling out cash at they end, before he went a little crazy, I feel as though he could have at least pushed a small stack towards my parents. But I don't say anything because I'm a grown up.
The night beofre last, Dad had taken yet another night off work and he dozed on one oend of the couch, my mom on the other. Eventually Darrell needed to be taken tot he bathroom and I'm unsure of the entire story, but he somehow managed to get piss all other bathroom from one end to the other, in the middle of the night. "He refuses to use that urinal--refuses!" Mom states. She also said he had one pillow that had soaked so thoroughly with blood, she simply threw it out. His ear continues to drain and it's mostly blood, rather than fluids and pus. I offered to clean it up for her. "I'd rather not look at it," she replied.
I mentioned the piss covered bathroom to Shawn in a tired sigh. "One day this will be funny," I said, dryly with not a hint of a smile to my expression. Even I'm not sure if I meant it or if I meant it to be sarcasm. I have a feeling none of this will be funny, even further down the road. And that's a shame, to be unable to laugh after all this. We've always had a knack for finding some way to laugh, even in dark humor, as time passes. I don't really see that happening.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Dreamily Dreaming
The next day I was so tired I felt like I was dreaming. It seemed hotter at work and I seemed to be sweating more than usual. Sure, it's always hot this time of year but it seemed to be sucking the very life force from my body. I entertained the thought that I was still in my bed under cool sheets, in the dark and the fan blowing cool air on my face. That must be it! I was asleep and this was all a horrible dream.
No, it surely wasn't. I haven't slept much in the past couple of weeks (no kidding) and no amount of coffee or Crystal Light energy drinks was getting me going. My alergies had taken hold of me so badly I was convinced I mgiht be getting sick. Although I kept saying over and over, "It's not a cold, it's NOT a cold!" It cleared up eventually and sometime later I suddenly became ravenous.
I treated myself to an overpriced sandwich from across the street. The light outside seemed brighter than normal. Was it always this bright? And the store seemed miles away. I busted on my two dollar lottery scratcher and ate my sandwich, washing it down with another energy drink. I finally started to feel a bit of life back in my bones. Very good, because I still have yet to finish my chores and call Mom.
There's still a bit of daylight left and the writing lets me unload a bit. I do not look forward to the sink FULL of dishes (I never let it get that full--I swear) however the caffine and processed sandwich chemicals seemed to have breathed new life into me. At least for now....
No, it surely wasn't. I haven't slept much in the past couple of weeks (no kidding) and no amount of coffee or Crystal Light energy drinks was getting me going. My alergies had taken hold of me so badly I was convinced I mgiht be getting sick. Although I kept saying over and over, "It's not a cold, it's NOT a cold!" It cleared up eventually and sometime later I suddenly became ravenous.
I treated myself to an overpriced sandwich from across the street. The light outside seemed brighter than normal. Was it always this bright? And the store seemed miles away. I busted on my two dollar lottery scratcher and ate my sandwich, washing it down with another energy drink. I finally started to feel a bit of life back in my bones. Very good, because I still have yet to finish my chores and call Mom.
There's still a bit of daylight left and the writing lets me unload a bit. I do not look forward to the sink FULL of dishes (I never let it get that full--I swear) however the caffine and processed sandwich chemicals seemed to have breathed new life into me. At least for now....
Twenty Four Hours
Mom called me at work, sobbing. There's a big difference in Mom's levels of upset. I could feel this was VERY upset. Kathy once again stated that Darrell might have 24 hours again. I wish she'd stop doing that. Seriously, now.
After work, Shawn and I made the drive out to my parents' house and upon arrival I was once again left alone with Darrell. I am unsure if it's intentional or everyone just happens to be in the kitchen all at once. Anyhow, I sat in the chair next to the couch and took his hand. Darrell's immediate weak grip on my fingers comforted me, although I soon noticed that his limbs and eyes seemed to all moving independantly of each other, as if each limb and eye were its own being. "Kathy said that's normal," Moms said. "And he's been doing a lot of this, too." She pointed her index finger as though a hunting dog might if he had fingers to point. "Kathy said a lot of people point."
"Darrell, I don't know if you remember this," I began, "but when I was very little, you took me up inside the bulldozer. I don't remember a lot of it anymore but it was very cold and very loud. For some reason I was thinking of that today." I'm not sure he heard or understood.
Darrell grasped my arm at one point and pulled it this way and that, mumbling incoherantly. His lack of teeth and slopping face makes it almost impossible to understand what he's saying and the lack of oxygen has made him very confused. His sate of dying has made his body and mind very agitated. "Darrell, I dosn't understand what you want," I said, blinking back tears. Two heavy tears finally fell to his shirt and bedding. "Darrell, I have to go to the bathroom, but Mom's right here," I excused myself quickly and rushed the bathroom. A high pitched squeal emitted from my throat that I never expected. I sat on the toilet and covered my face with a was of toilet paper and sobbed.
The rest of the time Darrell was agitated saying, "I have to get out of here!" in a mumbled fuss and "Why is the truck borken? Can't you fix it?" After Shawn told him we can't any where because the truck was broken. Finally settled by a solemn "Oh." It was like this all night.
His leathery arms were covered by scrapes and bruises. Mom, asleep on the other couch would awaken to him falling. He had forgotten he really could not walk on his own. "Darrell, you cannot, cannot walk on your own!" Mom would say. "I know, sis," he's say sadly. "I won't do it again." And as soon as Mom dirfted back to sleep, he'd try again and fall again. At one point, Mom had caught him and they both fell to their knees.
I want this to be over. Darrell is tired, Mom is so tired. My parents need to move on. This is no kind of life for any of them. On the way home, Shawn had said if he was ever in that sort of position, he'd just go have an accident. "And what do you think that would do to me!" I exclaimed. "It's better than putting you through what your mom is going through!" he retorted. "You'd be OK and set for life!" I don't exactly see it that way. In a sense, though Id read the future because he's inhaling plasma dust, a known and definite cause for lung cancer--the slowest and worst way to go if you ask me. Nobody ever ask to suffocate over a year's time. He's smoked for so very long and eats nothing but fat-filled greasy foods. I'd give anything to throw out our little deep fryer. Anything. And he welds. Welders are well known fr developing Parkinson's Disease.
I fear that my future will be Mom's present condition. I fear I couldn't handle it. Of course I'd do it. Nothing on earth could stop me or hold me back from it. But I dread it, I fear it. It's one thing to comfort Mom, to be there for her as much as I can, to pick things from the store and fix little minor household problems. It's quite another thing to be my mom. I don't want Shawn to go off and "have an accident" but I don't want to be my mother, either.
After work, Shawn and I made the drive out to my parents' house and upon arrival I was once again left alone with Darrell. I am unsure if it's intentional or everyone just happens to be in the kitchen all at once. Anyhow, I sat in the chair next to the couch and took his hand. Darrell's immediate weak grip on my fingers comforted me, although I soon noticed that his limbs and eyes seemed to all moving independantly of each other, as if each limb and eye were its own being. "Kathy said that's normal," Moms said. "And he's been doing a lot of this, too." She pointed her index finger as though a hunting dog might if he had fingers to point. "Kathy said a lot of people point."
"Darrell, I don't know if you remember this," I began, "but when I was very little, you took me up inside the bulldozer. I don't remember a lot of it anymore but it was very cold and very loud. For some reason I was thinking of that today." I'm not sure he heard or understood.
Darrell grasped my arm at one point and pulled it this way and that, mumbling incoherantly. His lack of teeth and slopping face makes it almost impossible to understand what he's saying and the lack of oxygen has made him very confused. His sate of dying has made his body and mind very agitated. "Darrell, I dosn't understand what you want," I said, blinking back tears. Two heavy tears finally fell to his shirt and bedding. "Darrell, I have to go to the bathroom, but Mom's right here," I excused myself quickly and rushed the bathroom. A high pitched squeal emitted from my throat that I never expected. I sat on the toilet and covered my face with a was of toilet paper and sobbed.
The rest of the time Darrell was agitated saying, "I have to get out of here!" in a mumbled fuss and "Why is the truck borken? Can't you fix it?" After Shawn told him we can't any where because the truck was broken. Finally settled by a solemn "Oh." It was like this all night.
His leathery arms were covered by scrapes and bruises. Mom, asleep on the other couch would awaken to him falling. He had forgotten he really could not walk on his own. "Darrell, you cannot, cannot walk on your own!" Mom would say. "I know, sis," he's say sadly. "I won't do it again." And as soon as Mom dirfted back to sleep, he'd try again and fall again. At one point, Mom had caught him and they both fell to their knees.
I want this to be over. Darrell is tired, Mom is so tired. My parents need to move on. This is no kind of life for any of them. On the way home, Shawn had said if he was ever in that sort of position, he'd just go have an accident. "And what do you think that would do to me!" I exclaimed. "It's better than putting you through what your mom is going through!" he retorted. "You'd be OK and set for life!" I don't exactly see it that way. In a sense, though Id read the future because he's inhaling plasma dust, a known and definite cause for lung cancer--the slowest and worst way to go if you ask me. Nobody ever ask to suffocate over a year's time. He's smoked for so very long and eats nothing but fat-filled greasy foods. I'd give anything to throw out our little deep fryer. Anything. And he welds. Welders are well known fr developing Parkinson's Disease.
I fear that my future will be Mom's present condition. I fear I couldn't handle it. Of course I'd do it. Nothing on earth could stop me or hold me back from it. But I dread it, I fear it. It's one thing to comfort Mom, to be there for her as much as I can, to pick things from the store and fix little minor household problems. It's quite another thing to be my mom. I don't want Shawn to go off and "have an accident" but I don't want to be my mother, either.
I Created The Sound of Madness
It's not as though I have the worst job on the planet. Of course that's not true. Aside from inhaling toxins, there a lot of positives. And my boss isn't really that bad. In fact he mostly leaves me to my own devices, is generous and generally wants to be your buddy on a good day. He occasionally picks on me for the sake of picking on me and the accusing me of senseless things that don't matter and aren't true grate on me to no end--no matter how stupid it is. It's more natural for me to dwell on the negatives of things...focus, focus, focus--no matter how hard I want to stop. I can't seem to get my mind off that thing that bothers me. Or that thing that was said to me.
Of course, I am aware my boss may know of and read this blog because a stupid facebook mistake I made a couple years ago. If he, or anyone else, doesn't liek what they read all one has to do is stop reading it. I've never asked so I cannot be sure but there seems to be a different air the next morning after a posting of "I hate my job" rantings. It's as if he's being very careful around the carzy person that might very likely shop up one day with a fully automatic rifle.
When I was very young I learned of one such character, a disgruntled postal worker who showed up one day and fired upon his former coworkers. I decided early on that I would seek out he workplace crazy person and be very, very nice to them. Naturally, I've come to realize that I am the workplace crazy person. Although at my workplace it's hard to tell one from the other as we have many crazy people. I'd never do such a thing, however. I read the newspaper in the morning and shake violently when I read of a woman who's been raped to death or when those two teenage girls stuck a kitten in a microwave and turned the power on (the kitten survived and was adopted). I shake because it angers me someone would behave this way. It angers me that God would even bother to allow the sperm into the egg that created these people. It angers me because this is nothing compared to other sufferings and I cannot do a thing about it but shake and cry and be angry.
See? Crazy.
My boss, at one time or another and more than one, has reminded me how emotional I am--as if I needed this pointed out to me. Although he hasn't done it in a while, I still can't shake the memory of it and it STILL irritates me. That's the curse of a freakish memory. It's helpful at times, and a curse at others. I'm emotional because of things that have happened to me, the need to defend myself and survive. Fight or flight. I'm a fighter. After many years of that I've become very defensive about every tiny, useless thing, no matter the unimportance. It's become like a reflex.
After years and years and years of being told that you're fat, ugly, stupid and worthless, you not only start to believe it, it becomes ingrained into your very well being. Even though I do believe I am a little dumb, I am smart enough to recognize that I was brainwashed. And brainwashing can take years and years to erase. My husband has helped a bit, but he fails to realize what it's like inside for me. (It's a mess in here)
So, boss, if you are reading my posts, I apologize for being so blunt and please do not treat me differently tommorow because I really do have a gentle soul behind all this anger (ask my pets) and I do not wnat you sympathy for anything I've written. I don't ask for it and I don't want it. Sympathy will not help me to solve my problems.
Of course, I am aware my boss may know of and read this blog because a stupid facebook mistake I made a couple years ago. If he, or anyone else, doesn't liek what they read all one has to do is stop reading it. I've never asked so I cannot be sure but there seems to be a different air the next morning after a posting of "I hate my job" rantings. It's as if he's being very careful around the carzy person that might very likely shop up one day with a fully automatic rifle.
When I was very young I learned of one such character, a disgruntled postal worker who showed up one day and fired upon his former coworkers. I decided early on that I would seek out he workplace crazy person and be very, very nice to them. Naturally, I've come to realize that I am the workplace crazy person. Although at my workplace it's hard to tell one from the other as we have many crazy people. I'd never do such a thing, however. I read the newspaper in the morning and shake violently when I read of a woman who's been raped to death or when those two teenage girls stuck a kitten in a microwave and turned the power on (the kitten survived and was adopted). I shake because it angers me someone would behave this way. It angers me that God would even bother to allow the sperm into the egg that created these people. It angers me because this is nothing compared to other sufferings and I cannot do a thing about it but shake and cry and be angry.
See? Crazy.
My boss, at one time or another and more than one, has reminded me how emotional I am--as if I needed this pointed out to me. Although he hasn't done it in a while, I still can't shake the memory of it and it STILL irritates me. That's the curse of a freakish memory. It's helpful at times, and a curse at others. I'm emotional because of things that have happened to me, the need to defend myself and survive. Fight or flight. I'm a fighter. After many years of that I've become very defensive about every tiny, useless thing, no matter the unimportance. It's become like a reflex.
After years and years and years of being told that you're fat, ugly, stupid and worthless, you not only start to believe it, it becomes ingrained into your very well being. Even though I do believe I am a little dumb, I am smart enough to recognize that I was brainwashed. And brainwashing can take years and years to erase. My husband has helped a bit, but he fails to realize what it's like inside for me. (It's a mess in here)
So, boss, if you are reading my posts, I apologize for being so blunt and please do not treat me differently tommorow because I really do have a gentle soul behind all this anger (ask my pets) and I do not wnat you sympathy for anything I've written. I don't ask for it and I don't want it. Sympathy will not help me to solve my problems.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
About Darrell
I haven't written much about Darrell because not much has changed. He hasn't eaten in 2 months. His legs are a skinny as arms. Mom is drained and depressed.
Shawn and I went last Friday and fixed stuff. He fixed the dryer. I fixed her bedroom TV and her electronic cigarette. I felt pretty confident about puffing on it to test--I have no interest in being tied down by that thing again. Once I got it working, I tested a full strength puff and it hit my in the center of the chest like a sack of nickels. I coughed for a half hour--that kind of deep croupy couch that sounds really nasty. Jeez. Wasn't expecting that! I smoked for 13 years (3 packs per day!) and used an e-cig for a year. I thought I could handle it. It proved to me I won't ever be tempted to go back to any of it. That crap caused me pain!
Mom sent us home with oatmeal cookies. Darrell briefly commented on Shawn fixing the dryer and that's the only words he uttered. Mom says he speaks about 10 words per day now.
The third of October is about to roll around and his, groan, wife still has his disability card. I hope someday someone screws her over as much as she's screwed over Darrell.
That's it. That's all that's happened. Mom and Dad want to one day take us to a Chinese Buffet so we can sincerely hurt their profits for a day (me, Shawn and Dad could, for real). I've saved restaurant gift cards won at work to take Mom out. Maybe when this is all over we can distract ourselves from the pain by stuffing ourselves stupid.
Then we'll cry again as we shop for larger pants. Heh.
Shawn and I went last Friday and fixed stuff. He fixed the dryer. I fixed her bedroom TV and her electronic cigarette. I felt pretty confident about puffing on it to test--I have no interest in being tied down by that thing again. Once I got it working, I tested a full strength puff and it hit my in the center of the chest like a sack of nickels. I coughed for a half hour--that kind of deep croupy couch that sounds really nasty. Jeez. Wasn't expecting that! I smoked for 13 years (3 packs per day!) and used an e-cig for a year. I thought I could handle it. It proved to me I won't ever be tempted to go back to any of it. That crap caused me pain!
Mom sent us home with oatmeal cookies. Darrell briefly commented on Shawn fixing the dryer and that's the only words he uttered. Mom says he speaks about 10 words per day now.
The third of October is about to roll around and his, groan, wife still has his disability card. I hope someday someone screws her over as much as she's screwed over Darrell.
That's it. That's all that's happened. Mom and Dad want to one day take us to a Chinese Buffet so we can sincerely hurt their profits for a day (me, Shawn and Dad could, for real). I've saved restaurant gift cards won at work to take Mom out. Maybe when this is all over we can distract ourselves from the pain by stuffing ourselves stupid.
Then we'll cry again as we shop for larger pants. Heh.
How does that song go? Oh yeah, I Hate My Job
Yes, this much is true. I really freaking hate my job. And I don't care much for the people I work with either. There's a lot of big personalities there and one, who I've worked with for a quite a while and I still can't figure out if that is stoned or just stupid. Seriously, I have really tried to figure it out. I still can't decide. For some reason my boss, lately has decided to move up my ass and take up permanent residency. He's been dogging me here and there, making false accusations and seemingly not trusting me to my job even though I've done it for 8.5 years and take up the tasks of other employees. Whatever. I just need the paycheck to clear and I'm good.
So I tell myself. The truth is I'm scared. I'd hardly admit that anywhere else but here yes, I am scared. The refinance upped our mortgage payment quite significantly and we've got two loans besides that. Shawn's business is still just a baby and a monthly salary is not guaranteed. What am I supposed to do anyway? The way to search for a job has changed and I don't understand it at all. The classifieds don't cut it anymore, everything's monster.com and all that.
I've entertained the idea of going to school, briefly, but I have no idea what I want to do. I'm terrified that I'd put all this time and money into learning a skill to find out that I absolutely hate it. I can do that now for free. Yes, I hate my job but it's secure. I'm fairly confident that if lay-offs were ever to happen, I'd be one of the last because I'm like a jack of all trades in the field. So I continue to mutter and dwell on the past. I keep my mouth shut because you can't just go around telling everyone what's wrong with them. Although sometimes I really wish I could.
I don't need anyone to tell me, I already know I'm negative and emotional and slightly psychotic. I KNOW why I don't have any friends and I don't care--I wouldn't have time for them anyway. I never asked to be this way, I was created. That's what a lot of people don't understand. It took twenty years for me to become this way and I've honestly tried to change. I spent years on it and finally decided that I no longer cared what anyone thought of me. Take me or leave. I've a lot on my mind and ton of shit to do. Either you like me the way I am or you don't. And if you don't like me, I could honestly care less. I've probably thought about dozens of things I don't like about you as well.
I digress, as always. I want a simple fix and I wonder if that's so wrong. Some people have things handed to them. Some have to toil and sweat and bleed. I'm a bleeder and a sweater and a toiler. Why is so wrong to wish for a winning lottery ticket? I'll even keep my nasty job--I just wanna pay down this debt, get a shop for Shawn and maybe a little left over for a degree for myself.
I'm done praying about it. I've prayed for a lot of things for many years, over and over. In regards to Shawn's smoking and how many years I spent praying about it, I once said to God, "You created the entire universe with a single word. Would this be so much to ask for?" I suppose it really is. I stopped praying about it.
Man, I really hate my job though. I could write pages on why I hate it. I'm supposed to be grateful to have a job while so many do not. Oh yes, I am so grateful I don't get a free ride, food stamps, free health care and rent paid. Lucky me. I'm so tired of the heat and the cold and butt blood stains. There are some coworkers I'd really love to just hit in the face the second their mouth opened and say, "Shut the fuck up! Don't you have something to do?" I've had it with the filth and sweaty arm pit stains. I'm sick of cleaning the microwave and handling blankets with other people's sex drippings (ew). I'm tired of people speaking to me as if I don't know what's going on, as if I were dim. I'm tired of people getting at me for doing my job and after EIGHT years acting as though I don't know how to do my job. Please, I did my job extremely well, even after taking Vicoden for dry socket after a wisdom tooth pulling. I could do this shit in my sleep and still do it well.
I wasted my twenties and here I am working on wasting my thirties and doing a damn fine job of it. Lucky me.
So I tell myself. The truth is I'm scared. I'd hardly admit that anywhere else but here yes, I am scared. The refinance upped our mortgage payment quite significantly and we've got two loans besides that. Shawn's business is still just a baby and a monthly salary is not guaranteed. What am I supposed to do anyway? The way to search for a job has changed and I don't understand it at all. The classifieds don't cut it anymore, everything's monster.com and all that.
I've entertained the idea of going to school, briefly, but I have no idea what I want to do. I'm terrified that I'd put all this time and money into learning a skill to find out that I absolutely hate it. I can do that now for free. Yes, I hate my job but it's secure. I'm fairly confident that if lay-offs were ever to happen, I'd be one of the last because I'm like a jack of all trades in the field. So I continue to mutter and dwell on the past. I keep my mouth shut because you can't just go around telling everyone what's wrong with them. Although sometimes I really wish I could.
I don't need anyone to tell me, I already know I'm negative and emotional and slightly psychotic. I KNOW why I don't have any friends and I don't care--I wouldn't have time for them anyway. I never asked to be this way, I was created. That's what a lot of people don't understand. It took twenty years for me to become this way and I've honestly tried to change. I spent years on it and finally decided that I no longer cared what anyone thought of me. Take me or leave. I've a lot on my mind and ton of shit to do. Either you like me the way I am or you don't. And if you don't like me, I could honestly care less. I've probably thought about dozens of things I don't like about you as well.
I digress, as always. I want a simple fix and I wonder if that's so wrong. Some people have things handed to them. Some have to toil and sweat and bleed. I'm a bleeder and a sweater and a toiler. Why is so wrong to wish for a winning lottery ticket? I'll even keep my nasty job--I just wanna pay down this debt, get a shop for Shawn and maybe a little left over for a degree for myself.
I'm done praying about it. I've prayed for a lot of things for many years, over and over. In regards to Shawn's smoking and how many years I spent praying about it, I once said to God, "You created the entire universe with a single word. Would this be so much to ask for?" I suppose it really is. I stopped praying about it.
Man, I really hate my job though. I could write pages on why I hate it. I'm supposed to be grateful to have a job while so many do not. Oh yes, I am so grateful I don't get a free ride, food stamps, free health care and rent paid. Lucky me. I'm so tired of the heat and the cold and butt blood stains. There are some coworkers I'd really love to just hit in the face the second their mouth opened and say, "Shut the fuck up! Don't you have something to do?" I've had it with the filth and sweaty arm pit stains. I'm sick of cleaning the microwave and handling blankets with other people's sex drippings (ew). I'm tired of people speaking to me as if I don't know what's going on, as if I were dim. I'm tired of people getting at me for doing my job and after EIGHT years acting as though I don't know how to do my job. Please, I did my job extremely well, even after taking Vicoden for dry socket after a wisdom tooth pulling. I could do this shit in my sleep and still do it well.
I wasted my twenties and here I am working on wasting my thirties and doing a damn fine job of it. Lucky me.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
The Purpose Driven Life
If you were to ask me what I had done in my twenties I would have to reply, "Nothing. Nothing at all." What I did was go to work, wash dishes, shop for groceries, fold laundry and sweep the floor. That's it. That is life. For people before me it was get up, milk the cows, feed the goats, churn the butter, change the diapers. Day after day after endless day.
I really do not understand the point of all this. Where does one find joy in doing the same damn thing every single day? What purpose does it serve other than to survive or help others survive? If all we're doing is surviving, what is there to living?
I'm not saying each day should a magical time at Disneyland, but I do not understand why we were put on this earth for such redundancy. What purpose does that serve?
In spite of my views on the purpose of life in general I can say that my life serves more purpose than some others. For some, their daily redundancy is to get up, take the pills, make sure the TV doesn't get up and run away, drink some beers, fall asleep. Not only do I know people that take to this daily behavior (and enjoy it) but I have them IN MY FAMILY!
On the one hand I think, "Why do you get to be so lazy and zoned out while I go off to a job I hate?" On the other hand I think to myself, "Well, at least I am contributing to society and am only 15 pounds over weight instead of 150."
What good does any of it do? There seems to be no point to any of it. In the past, you worked the fields until you were dead. In today's American society you work to pay your bills that never end and then you die. Surely, there is no parade.
I really do not understand the point of all this. Where does one find joy in doing the same damn thing every single day? What purpose does it serve other than to survive or help others survive? If all we're doing is surviving, what is there to living?
I'm not saying each day should a magical time at Disneyland, but I do not understand why we were put on this earth for such redundancy. What purpose does that serve?
In spite of my views on the purpose of life in general I can say that my life serves more purpose than some others. For some, their daily redundancy is to get up, take the pills, make sure the TV doesn't get up and run away, drink some beers, fall asleep. Not only do I know people that take to this daily behavior (and enjoy it) but I have them IN MY FAMILY!
On the one hand I think, "Why do you get to be so lazy and zoned out while I go off to a job I hate?" On the other hand I think to myself, "Well, at least I am contributing to society and am only 15 pounds over weight instead of 150."
What good does any of it do? There seems to be no point to any of it. In the past, you worked the fields until you were dead. In today's American society you work to pay your bills that never end and then you die. Surely, there is no parade.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Jealously
I've been watching a lot of the older episodes of The Big Bang Theory. If you don't know the show, most of the characters are really, really smart. The more I watch, the more jealous I become. I find myself wishing that I had been born smart. Oh, I'm smart in the general sense of speaking. But I am terrible at math and I don't "get" things right away. I am mechanically inept. If I had been born smart like the characters on the TV show, my life might have turned out quite different. I wouldn't be working at a dry cleaners, for example, developing six tumors at once.
Shawn has over the years developed a way of talking down to me, or taking out his frustrations on me when things aren't going his way. I'll spare you the details but we recently had to work together and it started all over again. The last time he became nasty with me for no apparent reason I wrote him a letter because it was the only way, I felt, that I'd be allowed to speak without being yelled at or interupted. Let me put it this way, if he had treated me like this early on, I would have never married him.
Shawn sometimes has a way of making me like the dumbest thing that ever lived and it makes me not only angry but also I feel about myself. He refuses to drive if we're going together and yet criticizes my driving every step of the way and acts like I am the worst driver on the freaking planet.
Let me mention here that Shawn is absent minded, very forgetful and does dumb ALL THE TIME. I don't treat him like a 2 year old for it by any means. I'm the one that crosses the Ts and dots the Is. It's what I do. I took 2 days off from work--TWO--a Friday and a Monday. Shawn was gone for most of Monday and when I got to work on Tuesday I was relieved. I cannot tell you how many vacations I've taken and have been glad--SO GLAD--to go back to work. And I really hate that fuckin' place.
It go to wondering if he's running some kind of internal experiment on how long I'll put up with this kind of stuff. Go ahead, do it some more and just see long I'll take it. Last time I pointed out to him that I am the only one on this earth that he treats this way. Not only that, I am the only one of this earth that helps him so much. A good part of my day--every day--is spent cleaning up after him, cooking for him and so on, but I help him with the business as well and no one in his family or circle of friends spends as much on this business as I do. And so I get treated like a dumb 2 year old.
It got me to thinking this morning (not the first time) that if anything were to happen between us I'd be royally fucked. I make $10.35 per hour which translates into $9.07 after taxes. I can't pay the bills on my own. I'd been thinking of what I could do (for the last 5 years) to get out of my job and thought maybe this time I'll actually speak to a college counselor and explain I have no skills, no money, little free time and I have no idea what to do. I need to make more money. I need to prepare for the day Shawn gets sick from inhaling plasma dust and paint fumes.
I have to do something. I continue to wish for something to happen because I feel stuck and honestly, I don't know what to do. My skills are limited because I hate people and math. I cannot sit in front of a computer for more than an hour before I start to ache all over and my head's about to explode. I start thinking about the corners I've backed myself into and I give up and merely wish for something good to happen to me.
But I know it won't just fall out of the sky. I have no rich relatives. I rarely play the lottery because it's not meant for me to win. And so I continue to wish I had been born smart, gone to college before I could legally work and set myself on a different path, one where I was self-sufficient and not dependent on a single soul.
Is this what was meant to be? To be married to what has become a verbally abusive husband, stuck in this house and working a dead end job where the guy hired 4 years ago makes more than me? Shawn had better not ever ask me to quit my job to work full time for him. Either I'd feel so bad about myself that I'd commit suicide or I'd kill him. Either outcome is bad. I need a job that has more take home pay so I can get out of this hole.
Shawn has over the years developed a way of talking down to me, or taking out his frustrations on me when things aren't going his way. I'll spare you the details but we recently had to work together and it started all over again. The last time he became nasty with me for no apparent reason I wrote him a letter because it was the only way, I felt, that I'd be allowed to speak without being yelled at or interupted. Let me put it this way, if he had treated me like this early on, I would have never married him.
Shawn sometimes has a way of making me like the dumbest thing that ever lived and it makes me not only angry but also I feel about myself. He refuses to drive if we're going together and yet criticizes my driving every step of the way and acts like I am the worst driver on the freaking planet.
Let me mention here that Shawn is absent minded, very forgetful and does dumb ALL THE TIME. I don't treat him like a 2 year old for it by any means. I'm the one that crosses the Ts and dots the Is. It's what I do. I took 2 days off from work--TWO--a Friday and a Monday. Shawn was gone for most of Monday and when I got to work on Tuesday I was relieved. I cannot tell you how many vacations I've taken and have been glad--SO GLAD--to go back to work. And I really hate that fuckin' place.
It go to wondering if he's running some kind of internal experiment on how long I'll put up with this kind of stuff. Go ahead, do it some more and just see long I'll take it. Last time I pointed out to him that I am the only one on this earth that he treats this way. Not only that, I am the only one of this earth that helps him so much. A good part of my day--every day--is spent cleaning up after him, cooking for him and so on, but I help him with the business as well and no one in his family or circle of friends spends as much on this business as I do. And so I get treated like a dumb 2 year old.
It got me to thinking this morning (not the first time) that if anything were to happen between us I'd be royally fucked. I make $10.35 per hour which translates into $9.07 after taxes. I can't pay the bills on my own. I'd been thinking of what I could do (for the last 5 years) to get out of my job and thought maybe this time I'll actually speak to a college counselor and explain I have no skills, no money, little free time and I have no idea what to do. I need to make more money. I need to prepare for the day Shawn gets sick from inhaling plasma dust and paint fumes.
I have to do something. I continue to wish for something to happen because I feel stuck and honestly, I don't know what to do. My skills are limited because I hate people and math. I cannot sit in front of a computer for more than an hour before I start to ache all over and my head's about to explode. I start thinking about the corners I've backed myself into and I give up and merely wish for something good to happen to me.
But I know it won't just fall out of the sky. I have no rich relatives. I rarely play the lottery because it's not meant for me to win. And so I continue to wish I had been born smart, gone to college before I could legally work and set myself on a different path, one where I was self-sufficient and not dependent on a single soul.
Is this what was meant to be? To be married to what has become a verbally abusive husband, stuck in this house and working a dead end job where the guy hired 4 years ago makes more than me? Shawn had better not ever ask me to quit my job to work full time for him. Either I'd feel so bad about myself that I'd commit suicide or I'd kill him. Either outcome is bad. I need a job that has more take home pay so I can get out of this hole.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Stuck
I am not normally the jealous sort of person. I have been lately. I've been feeling jealously all the time and I hate myself for it. I used to be happy just to have a bed and full belly and lately I've been jealous of everybody for everything.
When Darrell moved in with my cousin Tammy, I visited her house once. She never married, became a nurse and bought her own house. I was really jealous of her house; it was beautiful. I was jealous also because it was spotless--because she had no spouse to louse it up and make it dirty and cluttered.
I wish I could be seventeen again and know what I know now. I'd go to school, get a good paying job and a house with no carpet. I wish people were afraid of me the way they're afraid of Monica on friends. Her house is a land where no one can spill. I wish I had a buddy I could go to Zumba classes with, maybe running in the park. I wish I had a small enconomy sized car that cost only $30 to fill the tank (thanks girl who ran the stop sign & totalled my Mazda--THANKS!!)
I can't go back. I cannot change things. I sometimes feel too stupid (and too broke) to go back to school. The constant clutter and dirtiness drives me crazy. It makes me insane to search for a pair of scissors that should be IN THAT DRAWER!!!!!! I cannot stand this feeling of being stuck with no options, no way to change things.
Jesus said, "I came that you might have and enjoy life."
When does that begin?
When Darrell moved in with my cousin Tammy, I visited her house once. She never married, became a nurse and bought her own house. I was really jealous of her house; it was beautiful. I was jealous also because it was spotless--because she had no spouse to louse it up and make it dirty and cluttered.
I wish I could be seventeen again and know what I know now. I'd go to school, get a good paying job and a house with no carpet. I wish people were afraid of me the way they're afraid of Monica on friends. Her house is a land where no one can spill. I wish I had a buddy I could go to Zumba classes with, maybe running in the park. I wish I had a small enconomy sized car that cost only $30 to fill the tank (thanks girl who ran the stop sign & totalled my Mazda--THANKS!!)
I can't go back. I cannot change things. I sometimes feel too stupid (and too broke) to go back to school. The constant clutter and dirtiness drives me crazy. It makes me insane to search for a pair of scissors that should be IN THAT DRAWER!!!!!! I cannot stand this feeling of being stuck with no options, no way to change things.
Jesus said, "I came that you might have and enjoy life."
When does that begin?
Lent
The last two times I visited, Darrell was walking by himself, sitting at the table & smoking pot and cigarettes. Mom reminded me that in her little book it mentions how a person nearing death will get a sudden burst of energy just before the end. Though knowing Darrell, a fleeting burst could last a month.
He hasn't eaten a single bite of food in over a month. "How long can a person live without food?" Mom asked me. Well, we know Jesus went a full 40 days and 40 nights without food and now we commemorate that event by giving up cookies for a month. I once read a comparison on fat & skinny women in a magazine. If one of each land on a deserted island with no food, the skinny woman would die first because the fat woman's body would feed on itself. Makes sense. When Darrell was eating, he ate as much as he could as often as he could, whatever he damn well pleased. Mom figured he was trying to enjoy ice cream while he still could.
Now he's vomiting his liquid medicines but still not in much pain, which is good of course. His estranged wife is still sniffing around, my guess hoping he'll make it to the 3rd of next month so his disability will kick in and she can smoke it away in a little glass pipe.
And people wonder why I don't trust anyone anymore.
I hugged Darrell goodbye as we were leaving and he was just skin and bones. It's easy to see in his arms and legs but to hug him and not feel a little fat here and there was weird. I am too wondering how long a person can actually live without food in their belly.
He hasn't eaten a single bite of food in over a month. "How long can a person live without food?" Mom asked me. Well, we know Jesus went a full 40 days and 40 nights without food and now we commemorate that event by giving up cookies for a month. I once read a comparison on fat & skinny women in a magazine. If one of each land on a deserted island with no food, the skinny woman would die first because the fat woman's body would feed on itself. Makes sense. When Darrell was eating, he ate as much as he could as often as he could, whatever he damn well pleased. Mom figured he was trying to enjoy ice cream while he still could.
Now he's vomiting his liquid medicines but still not in much pain, which is good of course. His estranged wife is still sniffing around, my guess hoping he'll make it to the 3rd of next month so his disability will kick in and she can smoke it away in a little glass pipe.
And people wonder why I don't trust anyone anymore.
I hugged Darrell goodbye as we were leaving and he was just skin and bones. It's easy to see in his arms and legs but to hug him and not feel a little fat here and there was weird. I am too wondering how long a person can actually live without food in their belly.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Family Matters
I know how I write when I don't feel like writing. It's bad, very bad. Well, now is one of those times so settle in, readers. Monday afternoon we arrived at my parents house. We sat with Mom in the kitchen, ate pizza and chatted a bit. Shawn helped Mom get Darrell get into the bathroom, sat him on the toilet and watched as Darrell promptly fell asleep.
I gratefully thanked him for that. It's not every day you have to help an in-law onto the toilet and idly stand nearby to make sure they don't fall off. Later, Darrell sat in a wheeled chair (not a wheel chair, a sor of stool like chair with small wheels on the legs) and slept. His breathing was labored. He'd take three breaths.....he stopped. His belly didn't move, nor did breath enter his lungs. And just as suddenly as it stopped, it started again for three more breaths and it stopped again for several seconds.
"Is that normal?" I mouthed to my mother with tears in my eyes. She nodded solemly. As we were preparing to leave many hours later Darrell's estranged wife (only unestranged around the time his disability payment reaches his cash card--a very long & tiresome story) and his two sons arrived. As we opened the doors to our vehicle, Molly, Mom's silly, stupid dog came bounding across the front lawn. Lately, this is not so uncommon as she has been prone to find a way through the fence of the biggest backyard in the county and make for the streets.
"MOLLY!" Shawn hollered as she reached the gravel road. I whistled and called to her, standing a bit behind Shawn. Molly ran like a cougar, fast and swift straight to Shawn, suddenly turned and came straight to me where she promptly sat and begged with her eyes.
To the backyard we went and tried as best we could to plug up her new hole. I had a few words with the youngest son and we left. I cried silently almost the whole way. I stared at the beautiful clouds int he sky, some half full with rain. Darrell has always said it would rain when he died. We laughed at this because it rarely ever rains.
Today is Thursday and Darrell is still alive. He's tired and ready to let go. He hasn't eaten in days, nor has he peed. But he can still kind of talk if you are concentrating very very hard on his muffled noises. He has no teeth and his face has slid so much, it affects his chatter now. With no energy left to even help him sit up, his manner of speaking requires your entire focus.
His own sons drove 2.5 hours to hang outside and drink beer and smoke whatever it is they smoke. One I think has quit that mess, but none the less, was conquered by peer pressure of his brother and step-mother to party outside or to go off miles into nowhere to hung for arrow heads. I am no fan of the wife. She shows up around the 3rd of each month and whatever money Darrell has given her winds up in a crack pipe, I'm sure. I could say the same for the eldest son as well, most likely.
Between the three amigos there and my parents, there was more drama than was needed, as is always the case with a family matter. Just so I am clear with my 2 or 3 readers, I personally do not care if I ever see any of them again as long as I live and most of us here feel the same. Maybe Darrell wasn't the perfect father to them. Certainly, he wasn't a fantastic uncle. But I have gotten to know him again and I found that I love him again, all past transgressions forgotten and forgiven, I had begun to see Darrell in a new light, after his anxiety was controlled by drugs, of course. To be fair, most nurses I've spoken to say that sort of meanness is quite common in a body fighting death.
I'm not sure God hears my prayers any longer. I have prayed for Shawn to quit smoking for that last I don't know how many years. I have been praying for Darrell to go quickly, quietly, painlessly and peacefully. He's done things that probably deserves punishment, but how much longer must we go on to be punished for watching it? What has my mother done to deserve this? Again?!
I gratefully thanked him for that. It's not every day you have to help an in-law onto the toilet and idly stand nearby to make sure they don't fall off. Later, Darrell sat in a wheeled chair (not a wheel chair, a sor of stool like chair with small wheels on the legs) and slept. His breathing was labored. He'd take three breaths.....he stopped. His belly didn't move, nor did breath enter his lungs. And just as suddenly as it stopped, it started again for three more breaths and it stopped again for several seconds.
"Is that normal?" I mouthed to my mother with tears in my eyes. She nodded solemly. As we were preparing to leave many hours later Darrell's estranged wife (only unestranged around the time his disability payment reaches his cash card--a very long & tiresome story) and his two sons arrived. As we opened the doors to our vehicle, Molly, Mom's silly, stupid dog came bounding across the front lawn. Lately, this is not so uncommon as she has been prone to find a way through the fence of the biggest backyard in the county and make for the streets.
"MOLLY!" Shawn hollered as she reached the gravel road. I whistled and called to her, standing a bit behind Shawn. Molly ran like a cougar, fast and swift straight to Shawn, suddenly turned and came straight to me where she promptly sat and begged with her eyes.
To the backyard we went and tried as best we could to plug up her new hole. I had a few words with the youngest son and we left. I cried silently almost the whole way. I stared at the beautiful clouds int he sky, some half full with rain. Darrell has always said it would rain when he died. We laughed at this because it rarely ever rains.
Today is Thursday and Darrell is still alive. He's tired and ready to let go. He hasn't eaten in days, nor has he peed. But he can still kind of talk if you are concentrating very very hard on his muffled noises. He has no teeth and his face has slid so much, it affects his chatter now. With no energy left to even help him sit up, his manner of speaking requires your entire focus.
His own sons drove 2.5 hours to hang outside and drink beer and smoke whatever it is they smoke. One I think has quit that mess, but none the less, was conquered by peer pressure of his brother and step-mother to party outside or to go off miles into nowhere to hung for arrow heads. I am no fan of the wife. She shows up around the 3rd of each month and whatever money Darrell has given her winds up in a crack pipe, I'm sure. I could say the same for the eldest son as well, most likely.
Between the three amigos there and my parents, there was more drama than was needed, as is always the case with a family matter. Just so I am clear with my 2 or 3 readers, I personally do not care if I ever see any of them again as long as I live and most of us here feel the same. Maybe Darrell wasn't the perfect father to them. Certainly, he wasn't a fantastic uncle. But I have gotten to know him again and I found that I love him again, all past transgressions forgotten and forgiven, I had begun to see Darrell in a new light, after his anxiety was controlled by drugs, of course. To be fair, most nurses I've spoken to say that sort of meanness is quite common in a body fighting death.
I'm not sure God hears my prayers any longer. I have prayed for Shawn to quit smoking for that last I don't know how many years. I have been praying for Darrell to go quickly, quietly, painlessly and peacefully. He's done things that probably deserves punishment, but how much longer must we go on to be punished for watching it? What has my mother done to deserve this? Again?!
Monday, September 2, 2013
Dreams
Bob has been in the hospital with a heart thing since Wednesday but that's another post for another time.
Saturday August 31, 2013
Shawn and I made the weekly drive to Mom's house and Mom told me Darrell may not have another weekend and I should go talk to him. "I don't know what to say," I replied. So I went to the living room where he lay on the couch, drowsy and slipping into the morphine and again, I just didn't know what to say. This is my mom's brother and yet I only just got to know him, only because he's been dying for months.
So I stared at him as he eyelids fluttered gently, accepting sleep.
Monday Septempter 2, 2013, Labor Day
I woke up very late. 6:30 in the morning is about 2 hours later than I normally get up. When I sleep too much, I feel foggy and tired instead of the normal get up and go, go, go. I'd had a very strange dream. We were all in a time very long ago. Darrell was very dirty and was being washed in a large puddle. He was either being washed or baptized, I wasn't sure. For some reason, I knew he was being prepared to be crucified, literally, on a cross.
I sat on the ground so I was eye level with Darrell, who was lying int he water propped on his elbow. I began to weep and he looked at me as though he couldn't see through the fog of the drugs. I think it was mom (It was someone I knew for sure) that came up with a large modern hammer and waved it int he air announcing, "Really? You really think it's good that someone left this out in front of Darrell? I mean, honestly!" It was as if Darrell didn't know what was in store.
Back in reality, Darrell had said he wasn't going to be here on Monday. Mom called me crying and I figured that was it. She said Kathy had come by this morning and said Darrell may have less than 24 hours. Shawn had taken my vehicle to the shop to get caught up a little. He'd gotten a bit behind after Bob being in the hospital. I told Mom when it was too hot for Shawn to work, we'd be charged to take Bob's oldest son back to Waco. This of course, is another story in which no one cares what we have going on, if we have the gas, whicle everyone else sits around watching television. No, not everyone. There are however, some others who have absolutely nothing to do that could take my nephew back to school.
Anyway, it doesn't matter now. It will be very late in the afternoon until I can get out there now. I pray it is quick so Darrell no longer has to suffer. I have been trying to figure out my dream all day and I don't know what it means. Usually I think dreams are mostly nonsense and there's no use trying to figure it out. This one was particularly strange, however.
Saturday August 31, 2013
Shawn and I made the weekly drive to Mom's house and Mom told me Darrell may not have another weekend and I should go talk to him. "I don't know what to say," I replied. So I went to the living room where he lay on the couch, drowsy and slipping into the morphine and again, I just didn't know what to say. This is my mom's brother and yet I only just got to know him, only because he's been dying for months.
So I stared at him as he eyelids fluttered gently, accepting sleep.
Monday Septempter 2, 2013, Labor Day
I woke up very late. 6:30 in the morning is about 2 hours later than I normally get up. When I sleep too much, I feel foggy and tired instead of the normal get up and go, go, go. I'd had a very strange dream. We were all in a time very long ago. Darrell was very dirty and was being washed in a large puddle. He was either being washed or baptized, I wasn't sure. For some reason, I knew he was being prepared to be crucified, literally, on a cross.
I sat on the ground so I was eye level with Darrell, who was lying int he water propped on his elbow. I began to weep and he looked at me as though he couldn't see through the fog of the drugs. I think it was mom (It was someone I knew for sure) that came up with a large modern hammer and waved it int he air announcing, "Really? You really think it's good that someone left this out in front of Darrell? I mean, honestly!" It was as if Darrell didn't know what was in store.
Back in reality, Darrell had said he wasn't going to be here on Monday. Mom called me crying and I figured that was it. She said Kathy had come by this morning and said Darrell may have less than 24 hours. Shawn had taken my vehicle to the shop to get caught up a little. He'd gotten a bit behind after Bob being in the hospital. I told Mom when it was too hot for Shawn to work, we'd be charged to take Bob's oldest son back to Waco. This of course, is another story in which no one cares what we have going on, if we have the gas, whicle everyone else sits around watching television. No, not everyone. There are however, some others who have absolutely nothing to do that could take my nephew back to school.
Anyway, it doesn't matter now. It will be very late in the afternoon until I can get out there now. I pray it is quick so Darrell no longer has to suffer. I have been trying to figure out my dream all day and I don't know what it means. Usually I think dreams are mostly nonsense and there's no use trying to figure it out. This one was particularly strange, however.
Friday, August 23, 2013
It's Natural to Fight It
Each time I call Mom I ask, "How's it going?" And she answers, "Slowly."
Darrell mostly sleeps now, hardly eats and doesn't really pee because he isn't drinking. Last week, mom got up in the morning and called to him, couldn't find him. The doors were all locked but she finally ventured outside to find him walking the circle drive-way. "Darrell?" she called.
"Oh thank God!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know where I was! I thought I had to go to work; I don't wanna go to work!"
A few days later he was almost shouting and Mom and Dad about how they force him to work and take all his money. Mom had to call several people & explain to them that if he starts talking about they need to come pick him up because he's living with them because Dave and Sis are such terrible people--it's not true and it's not happening.
Of course he's a bit out of his mind now and then. Of course Mom and Dad aren't sending him to work and the only time they ever took money from him was the time he left the water hose running for hours and hours, full blast. Darrell gave Mom forty dollars and apologized for the water bill.
It's become quite depressing. More so than usual. He's stopped eating so he's lost a considerable amout of weight. His arms appear skinny and the skin is cracked and weathered from years under the sun. His face droops on one side. A type of bed sore on his foot has become infected and swollen and reeks of that odd infection smell. The same scent can be detected when you stand near his face and the cancer forced a drainage from his ear, coupled with large amounts of blood.
His favorite pants, which were once so tight it took two people to button, now hang from his waist. But his pain is practically managed most of the time which is saying something. Mom cries because she knows it would better for him to let go, though he's fighting it every minuet. "But I know the alternative!" she weeps. "He has no kind of life!"
On the one hand, he is in pain and spends most of his time sleeping or trying to pee, which is not the best life for a person. It's taxing and stressful on everyone that loves him. On the other hand, once he's gone, he's gone and I think as hard as things are right now on Mom, the alternative may be even harder.
Jesus, if you are there.....
listening....
give us a solution to this mess.
Tell him it's OK to stop fighting.
Tell him to let go.
Darrell mostly sleeps now, hardly eats and doesn't really pee because he isn't drinking. Last week, mom got up in the morning and called to him, couldn't find him. The doors were all locked but she finally ventured outside to find him walking the circle drive-way. "Darrell?" she called.
"Oh thank God!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know where I was! I thought I had to go to work; I don't wanna go to work!"
A few days later he was almost shouting and Mom and Dad about how they force him to work and take all his money. Mom had to call several people & explain to them that if he starts talking about they need to come pick him up because he's living with them because Dave and Sis are such terrible people--it's not true and it's not happening.
Of course he's a bit out of his mind now and then. Of course Mom and Dad aren't sending him to work and the only time they ever took money from him was the time he left the water hose running for hours and hours, full blast. Darrell gave Mom forty dollars and apologized for the water bill.
It's become quite depressing. More so than usual. He's stopped eating so he's lost a considerable amout of weight. His arms appear skinny and the skin is cracked and weathered from years under the sun. His face droops on one side. A type of bed sore on his foot has become infected and swollen and reeks of that odd infection smell. The same scent can be detected when you stand near his face and the cancer forced a drainage from his ear, coupled with large amounts of blood.
His favorite pants, which were once so tight it took two people to button, now hang from his waist. But his pain is practically managed most of the time which is saying something. Mom cries because she knows it would better for him to let go, though he's fighting it every minuet. "But I know the alternative!" she weeps. "He has no kind of life!"
On the one hand, he is in pain and spends most of his time sleeping or trying to pee, which is not the best life for a person. It's taxing and stressful on everyone that loves him. On the other hand, once he's gone, he's gone and I think as hard as things are right now on Mom, the alternative may be even harder.
Jesus, if you are there.....
listening....
give us a solution to this mess.
Tell him it's OK to stop fighting.
Tell him to let go.
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