Thursday, September 11, 2014

The Letter

I never read my old posts.  I read everything going all the way back to February, when Bob passed.  I read the letter I had written to Bob, three days after his passing I think.  I asked him to send a message once in a while, especially to Kristin.  I'd forgotten all about that.  I read that and I just cried and cried.

I am still, STILL, trying to make sense of all this!

Late Bloomer

When we had to put down our dog after 13 years, I cried every day for a solid month.  I know it was a month because exactly thirty days later, Shawn began to drag me to animal shelters because the house was "too quiet" as he put it.  I cried openly, unafraid of judgment.  I no longer cared what people thought.

What really always amazed me was that I've been to countless funerals; I literally have lost count.  My family has suffered a great many loses and I have not cried for any family member or friend as I did for that dog.  She was not my child; I have never referenced my dogs as children.  She was not my child, no, but she was my baby.

Almost three years later, we lost my uncle and I teared up yes, but I didn't cry.  It wasn't until two months later I attended a Christmas event for the hospice program that cried.  I attempted to suck it back, but as much as I tried, I could not contain it.  It wasn't fear of what anyone thought.  Many were crying openly for the angel they had placed on the tree, bearing the name of their loved one who'd they'd lost earlier in the year.  I think in way I thought that maybe I'd grown string enough to not cry.  But what does strength have to do with not crying?  Isn't it having strength that allows us to cry?  Shouldn't I have the strength to allow myself to grieve?

I felt as though I had grieved enough while he was living, yet dying more and more each day.  But I stood there, facing the tree with its golden lights & countless angels with names and I cried.  I could not have felt more alone in that small room squashed by so many people.

It wasn't until Bob died that I truly allowed myself to feel.  It was so unexpected.  And yet, it wasn't expected.  It was not so much that I allowed myself to feel, but more that I could not help it.  I could not hold back the anguish.  And it was not just the fact that Bob was gone, but the conspiracy theories, the pain, the strife that our families added to the flame.  Each combination of words was fueling that flame to a size I could not ever possibly imagine on my own.

I barely ate.  I slept only because of dark whiskey.  I looked forward to the time of day when the sky darkened and I have a sip that would make me forget everything that was going on.  I began to quickly realize how people replace their feelings with alcohol.  I understood now, why people pushed their pain with the bitter taste of beer or wine.  I swore to control it, and I did.  I never succumbed to the disease that has claimed so many so close to me.

But no matter how much I drank, how little I ate, the pain remained.  It was different with Bob.  With many others in my family, we'd known it was coming.  For a year, two years, we'd always had an advanced warning.  With Bob, we had only a handful of months when we felt something was not quite right, though we never spoke of it.  Cancer was never diagnosed.  Heart problems have been present since he was a teenager but he's made it this far, this long....Why not another ten years?

It was not to be.  It was quick and sudden.  Shawn and I had a grand scheme to help Bob and his family.  We would open the store and hire Bob because everyone else was making buckets of cash.  But we were too late.  Time was not on our side.  It wasn't since having to watch a doctor inject my dog with poison that would stop her heart that I felt such awful pain.

And I still cry.

With Bob gone and our grieving not quite passed, we decided we could make buckets of money to at least help his children, to make good on our promise that we never told him about.  But that was not to be either.  Others seem to be making money hand over fist in this business except us.  We do OK, but it's not enough.  Who will help his family?  Isn't this the whole reason we started all this mess?!

I still have sharp memories of the funeral.  There are some I have no memory of whatsoever.  During the week of which Bob passed, I wrote notes.  I intended to write it out as a story, to be kept privately, to help myself work out some this emotion.  I never did.  I am afraid I will not recall what some of the notes mean but it doesn't matter.  It has served its purpose.  It helped me to a point.  In a way, it allowed to tell "someone" the things that could not be repeated.

I remember writing about how Bob looked in the casket.  That's all I wrote about it.  I had written no details.  The truth is, I vividly remember how gray his skin looked, especially on his hands.  I remember how it looked like Bob, but it didn't look like him at all.  It was more of a shadow of Bob.

Perhaps that is the best way to remember someone when you see them after.  It is a shell, a container for this life.  Bob has moved on to the next life and has a new container.  I do believe this because of the dream I had about a week after he passed.  Bob didn't die.  He passed along to the next world.  I know he lives because he told me so in my dream.  He told Kristin, his daughter the same thing.

Why then, does it still hurt so much?  Why do I still cry?

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Chicken, Fried

I cry most days now, pretty regularly.  When I am not crying I am focusing much of my energy trying to NOT cry.  I got fried chicken at the grocery store today and ate until I felt sick.  I was doing pretty well on my healthy eating routine.  Hey, just because one is depressed, doesn't mean one has to indulge in an unhealthy lifestyle.  Shawn and I had words last night.  I don't remember a lot of it.  I was fairly drunk at the time.  I am a little drunk right now.  I do faintly remember waving my hand in a circle and saying something like, "It's all about yooooouuuuuuu...."  Though I cannot be sure.

I was going to ask at my yearly exam if the gyno would prescribe me a mild, inexpensive antidepressant.  My application ran out with the women's health program so I had to reapply.  This meant getting two months worth of birth control and sending a BUNCH of forms and documentation proving Shawn's income as he has been self employeed. 

I pay taxes.  I pay for young women to get a pap smear & free birth control.  Two sixteen year old girls (who do not yet pay taxes) walked in while I was at the clinic.  No problem for them.  They should be spreading herpes right about......now.

However I am required to send a huge envelope of papers to Austin in order to (hopefully) be seen and continue on my birth control, which has done a lovely job of controlling my 9 days periods and severe cramps.  It has also saved the state money as I have not become pregnant & asked the state to give me WIC and food stamps and free housing.  I pay taxes and therefore I am saving other tax payers money by not having children, all by my own choice.  If only everyone were so vigilant. 

I am a little concerned though.  I have no idea what a gyno visit would cost me out of pocket with no insurance.  I am hoping that whoever is looking over our tax return from last year will be just as confused as I am when I look at it that they'll just pass my application.  That's pretty much what happened last time.  It's not as though Shawn made a lot of money last year, nor is he making a ton right now.  I feel if we are working so much with so little to show for it and I still have to stay in my nightmarish hot, dirty job, then the least the state could do is give my birth control with a substantial discount.  But who am I?  I do not have 7 kids, nor a history of back or heart problems like most of the fakers out there.  meanwhile, everyone who actually deserves disability waits for 3 years before anyone ever glances at their application.  But I digress....

I started an essay about my uncle in order to enter a contest where the top prize is $2000 to be delivered next March.  I started it.  Then I lost interest.

I have decided that if we are ever rolling in ridiculous amounts of money that I would like to seek out & pay for clear skin.  I'd like to take up jogging.  I wanna be one of those women who jogs every morning.  I want to learn to paint and I have always wanted to take boxing lessons.  Yes, boxing.  Maybe if I can hit something with gloved fists, I won't cry so much.

Maybe.

Friday, July 18, 2014

Black

I thought it might help if I started wrinting.  I don't think so.  I feel trapped.  Stuck.  Unmoving.  Trapped, more than anything.  I cry a lot these days.  Most days.  I spend a lot of time trying not to cry.  Angry because I should be allowed to cry, to release some of this anguish.  I do not think I have ever been as unhappy as I am now.  For months.

I do not know what to do.  I am not where I want to be.  I am not who I want to be.  I sometimes wish I were dead.  I sometimes wish I was someone else in a different time & place. 

I'm tied of living like this.  Living?  This is not living.  This is dying slowly in a hidden manner.  I cannot share it.  I want to be alone.  I want to live my own life, to make my own decisions.  But I am trapped.  Bound.  Shackled forever.  I cannot change any of this.  I am a slave to all fo this.  I need to find a way out but I cannot find the opening.  I don't know where God has gone.  He's on vacation I think, at least from me.  Why do I still ask him for help?  He doesn't seem to hear me, or care or notice m,aybe even.  I am unsuyre.  I can't talk to anyone about this.  If I talk to God about it I may as well talk tot he wall.  I get no answers, no reassurances.  Nothing.

Still trapped.  I hate this, I hate all of this and everything that I ahve to do.  I want to be free.  Why can't i just be free?

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Whiskey River

As soon as I got home, as soon as I opened the door I fell to my knees.  And cried and cried.  I held my dog who licked my eyeballs and cried some more.

Maybe this is why I've started drinking again.

It's a funny thing about alcohol.  The thing is, whenever anyone in my family gets anywhere near it, they are immediately, instanously, an alcoholic.  I've seen it happen too many times and therefore I was terrified of alcohol until I got drunk for the first time on my 27th birthday.  I could've sworn I was walking straight for the door, but apparently Shawn had to guide me all the way down the street to the car.  I could swear we parked closer!

I'm proud to say I've never operated heavy machinery while drunk (I can barely operate the DVD player while drunk) and I've never once had a hangover.  I've never once lost entire hours either.  I remember everything right up till I fall asleep in a drunken stupor.

It began when Shawn and I were setting up the equipment for Hot Torch Designs, his new business.  I'd get up at 4:30 AM for my job, go to work, run the errands, do the chores at home.  We'd go to the shop and work till around 10 PM and do it all over again the next day.  I could not sleep and I needed to wind down quickly so I could get in a quick 6 hours sleep so I began with a shot or two of whiskey or rum.

Then I gained ten pounds without even trying.  "It's because of a big dose of calories and sugar right before bed," said our friend Richard, who is a professional drinker with LOTS of experience.

So I switched to Benadryl.  It's low in fat and has no calories!  Beginning sometime in December, around the time that all this fuss with Don began, I began to slip in a little whiskey after I'd already taken Benadryl.  Don't know if this is considered safe and quite frankly I don't care anymore.

Another funny thing about alcohol is that women get drunker faster than men because of higher fat content and lower muscle content.  I'm five feet tall and I have plenty of fat to quickly absorb the whiskey so it really doesn't take much.  Last night I timed it.  I poured a shot, not quite to the top and downed it.  Made a sour face (because it's like $6 a gallon) and I was plenty toasted within four minuets.

Ah, sweet river of whiskey.  Within no time, my problems had fallen by the wayside.  My worries cast aside, I watched a DVD of "My Name is Earl" and chuckled slightly until I fell into a silent doze.  Not that I intend to become an alcoholic (who does?) but I can certainly understand why one would turn to drugs or alcohol to make everything go away.  My problem is that I care about my dogs getting fed, having food around, even if it's only Ramen noodles and electricity.  I really like electricity.

So I drink before bed to force myself to become as dumb as a doorknob and relax.  Naturally, it's always in the back of my head of what has happened with other close family members and their drug and alcohol usage, of course there's always that lingering worry that I may not be able to save myself in case of fire, flood or tornado.  But the whiskey washes most of those worries away.  They're barely there.  And then I become very sleepy.  And hopefully I can sleep in a very deep stupor until midnight, at which point I'll get up and pee as if I were peeing for the first time ever, then literally fall into the bed and sleep like a dead thing till that awful hatred sound of the alram clock goes off again in four and a half hours.

So today wasn't good and I'm very much looking forward to bedtime and my whiskey river.  Hey, at least I've got something to look forward to.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Pusher

Back when Don was ordering 1,000 bottles at a time, Shawn suggested that perhaps I could quit my job and just make juice.  That was OK with me.  A couple of times, Mom came over and helped me out on a Saturday.  She put on nipples, caps, and labels and that's a huge help when you're facing large orders and doing everything by hand.

A couple of weeks ago, Allan mentioned to me that a vapor store opened on Ave. M.  I've been a bit a powder keg lately from lack of sleep, food and money.  I wished he hadn't told me because I thought no, it couldn't possibly be at our location where we'd signed a lease and lost $2,000.

Of course it was.  Shawn stopped by the store & chatted with the guys there.  On Sunday I made up sample kits with the plans to drive all over this county as time permitted and push this electronic cigarette juice as hard as possible.  I have to get out of my job.  I've been doing it too long and I'm so tired of freezing every winter and spring.

So I changed my clothes, slapped on some make-up and stopped by the new vapor store at our location.  It went well, although I'm not sure if these guys will order anything based onthe fact they make their own juice.  I explained the following behind Flavorful brand until our fall out with a censored store owner.  I told them I would not talk bad about this person, nor was I seeking revenge.  However, if they decided to carry my juice line, I would send over everyone I knew to help them out.  After all, what helps you out, helps me out.

This of course, was mostly lies.  Yes, I am still very bitter about what happened between us and Don.  I see what I am doing with two views.  One is all business.  This is a legitimate business with a huge local fan following; good for all involved.  Two, I see myself as acting on Karma's behalf and hope to bring Flavorful back to Bell County to both allow me to quit my job and crush Don.  It would be an added bonus, that's all.  Someone that evil doesn't deserve to do so well.  And naturally, what goes around comes around.

I will not speak badly about him outside of my own home.  I am merely doing business.  Selling a premium product made with my own hands, my heart and soul poured into it.

Later, as I became scatter brained and a form of ADD kicked in because I had three skillion things to do and was running out of day, as usual, I began to cry.

Normally, as of lately, I cry every single day now.  However this was one of a broken heart.  It broke my heart to go into that building that was mine.  Mine!  And see what a beautiful job they had done with it.  Everything came rushing into my head like a bad storm rolling in.  I never wanted to open a store to begin with.  I certainly didn't want to be outside of my city!  After I'd gotten home, I looked around that store in my head and thought, this should be me!  This was supposed to my ten minuet drive!

Gas is now $3.50 per gallon and our dreve is 40 miles littered with interstate construction and huge concrete walls 2 inches from each lane.  Shawn was offered another large job and I don't know how all this going to work out.  I don't understand why we are put into these situations, why we are left to flounder and flop.  In the shower, I cried out to God.  Why are you having us go through all this?  Why won't you help me?  I'm so tired!  I am SO TIRED!  Where are you?  Why can't I have something, ONE THING the way I want it?

And so on and so forth.  Most days I cry for 10 or 15 minuets and shut it off before Shawn gets home.  I've been crying on and off for about 2 hours now.  I hid it well.  I've trained myself pretty well at least with him.  All I ever wanted was a simple life, a clean home.  Neat and clean is organized and simple.  I hate people; I don't really want to instruct people for a living six days a week while making juice at night and on Sunday.  I told Shawn a few days ago I want to make juice, that's all I want to do.  He said he'd help me in any way he could.

Of course I don't want to spend every waking minuet making juice, but it's alone.  And if I was selling enough my mom would help me, she said she would.  I don't know how much time I have left with my mom and I think that situation would work out real good.  After a day of filling bottles, we could go have lunch.  I'd like that.

I'm so tired of Ramen noodles.  I haven't been this bloated since I was 17 and Shawn and I moved in together.  So now I'm tired and bloated.  And broke, of course.  Don't forget the unforgivable debts!  God, please make these stores want to order up all this juice.  I need something to go my way.  I need something to change.

Damn, I really want to a cheeseburger, too.

Monday, April 14, 2014

You Have GOT to be Kidding Me!

Today was interesting.  After an hour on the clock I told Terry, "Just so we're clear, nothing's gonna change between us just because you tattled on me."

Terry, who is big and dumb didn't quite understand at first.  "Huh?  Who tattled?"

I walked away & went to work in my area.  He came over several minuets later (I guess he had to think real hard about it) and said that if I wasn't a woman he would have gotten fired that day "with the way that you talked to me!"  (You see, he deserves respect simply because he's a man and I'm a lowly woman.  I don't have a complex or anything, it's just the way things are sometimes with some people.  Ask Allan about it sometime)

Some things I thought of too late after the fact:
"That's mighty strong words coming from a tattle tell."
"You call me when you have a dog that lives longer than 6 months & I'll give you the respect that you so clearly deserve."
"Dude, I would kick your ass!  Let's go!  Come on!"

What I said:  "If I wasn't at work I would've gotten REAL serious!"
Terry began speaking but I never heard the words that came out of his mouth.  Everything I said from the very beginning came out mono-toned and very calm.  "I don't think we have any reason to ever communicate again, Terry," I said calmly not once ever looking up from my work.  He could've been a voice floating in the air for all I know.

"Man, I don't even WANT to talk to you!" he stammered.  I pictured a child kicking the dirt and screaming, "We're not friends anymore!"

Calmly, without looking up; Terry STILL talking, I stated, "I'm done Terry, I am so done."  I may have said it more than once or twice.  I really didn't catch what he was saying because I was telling him how done I was.  He walked away and that was it.

Terry has been on the job for something like 4 years now.  Truthfully, he should be fine without my holding his hand all the time and catching all the things he'd forgotten.  We'll see.  We certainly will see.

I now, finally have learned my place.  If I had a dick and balls, I am quite certain things would be different with Allan.  "That's Allan's baby," said one coworker referring to Terry.  Another said, "Terry can do no wrong."

I'm starting to believe that what's Allan believes.  However, Allan still sees a need for Terry and I to communicate "in case he might have a question".  It's been over 4 years.  Terry should know how to wash the damn clothes by now.

And by the way, I COULD have kicked his ass if necessary.  He's big and slow and dumb.  That's a fatal combination in my neighborhood, last I checked.  (I'm small and feisty and also, I fight dirty)

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Really?

How dare you say you understand I'm under a lot of pressure?  I don't think you could even begin to have a clue.  Look, I"m real sorry that I didn't go to college and take a psychology course (a hundred years ago) and therefore think I understand how people work.  And I'm real sorry I don't have the balls to walk around telling everyone in my path "don't throw stones!"  And I'm real sorry I don't measure up to Terry, who by the way when was hired I couldn't tell is he was stoned or stupid.  Looks like I was wrong on both accounts.  He's just a big baby.

If you listen real close, you'll occasionaly hear Martha and me screaming at each other.  Though neither one of us runs tot he boss and tells on each other.  I'm SO sorry I wasn't acting "like an adult" for a couple of minuets but that shit happens down stairs practically every day.  Too bad you're not around to witness it all.  How conveinent it must be to just wait for Terry to tell it on somebody.

I hope you don't lose any sleep over my mouth.  My mouth and my attitude is exactly why I'm alive today.  I'm sorry we can't all be like you, all laid back and cool.  There might be fewer wars.  I'm sorry you don't understand what it's like to go through a Ramen noodle period.  I'm talking about having Ramen noodles & rice for months, not because you have a cold or because it's cold.  I'm sorry I didn't have my life all planned and laid out for me.  Then maybe I'd be just as laid back and cool.  Then maybe when Terry does something to piss me off I could turn a blind eye.

I'm not doing the things he forgets anymore.  I'm not picking up his slack.  I seriously doubt you'll talk to him just like you never talked to Jennifer.  You have certain ones you have NO problem speaking to and others...well they can ignore the bathroom trash even though their paid to take it out and that's OK by you.  Must be so nice to be so laid back and cool, huh?

Terry and I do not need to communicate.  Martha and I stopped speaking several years ago and the store still thrives.  The only reason Terry and I would need to communicate is because I do a decent portion (even though he gets more per hour) of his damn job.  I'm done.  Terry can do his own damn job.  I have never once had him ask me if I need help, even when I was sick with a cold or vomiting slightly.  Terry is gonna do the minimum required and nothing extra.  I'm not doing that shit anymore.  If that's me "causing problems", well I;m sorry about that.  Maybe you shouldn't have hired such a dumb baby.

I don't need this.  I don't need to be condescended on anymore.  You act as if I am the ONLY ONE who occasionally acts out or has these wretched feelings about Terry.  Go ahead.  I dare you.  Ask anyone.  He's lazy and dumb.  He leaves chicken bones on the table.  He sets the washer to longest cycle ON PURPOSE for 4 shirts EVERY SINGLE TIME!  He has helped tag maybe twice, ever.  Usually he just stands there and watches the rest of us work.  He's real good at that.  He speaks in two words--even you know that.  "Some pants."
 
WHAT ABOUT SOME PANTS?  WHAT?!!!
 You have no idea what it's like working with him when you're not the one signing the paychecks.  NO IDEA!  I could get more comprehension and work ethic out of my 12 year old nephew.   I can't wait to get out of here.  I never hated my job so much until Terry was hired.  Never!  Now I've reached my breaking point.  You pretty much set that line for me the other day.  The day I walk out will be the last time I ever set foot on property again.  Oh, and by the way, I didn't realize I was causing so many problems to begin with.  My bad.


Sunday, April 6, 2014

Decision Making

Saturday you asked me if I was mad at you.  "Because of all this...."
I shook my head and said nothing because the thoughts in my head are really mean & hurtful.

You just make bad decisions.  Every time I pass that pile of metal in the backyard it reminds me that we could be $330 richer.  But the shed was on sale & you just had to have it.  And all you managed to accomplish was to open the box, lose the instructions and leave it there in the yard, in a pile, to rot for 3 years.

Every time I drive down Ave. M. I am reminded how we lost $1800 on that lease along with over $200 on the insurance policy for the location.

Your dad left you $40,000 in a life insurance policy and you gave it to your mom who gave it to your siblings (!!!!!) little by little.  And now she's broke.

And now we're broke and up to our eyeballs in debt.

When you first mentioned opening a store I cried because I didn't want the hassle, the cost, the dealings with people.  I cried because I would have been happy to sit at home and make juice.  I cried because I knew IT DID NOT MATTER what I wanted or how I felt about it.  I cried because I knew we would most definitely be opening a store.  And now we're broke and up to our eyeballs in debt.

I do 100% of everything at home; I pick up after you daily; I have a day job and I do 100% of everything you ask/tell me to do.  And yet I get blamed for WET PAINT, BROKEN PLASTIC, AND BOLTS THAT WON'T GO INTO THE FLOOR!!!!  You scream at me as if I have sabotaged these things when all I've ever done is everything you've asked/told me to do.  No one has ever made me cry as much as you have.

You say you do all this for me, to give me a better life and yet all you've ever done is drive us further into debt as though it were a hobby, hurt my feelings, and raise the stress levels through the roof.

I think you do all this for you.  It has NEVER mattered what I wanted.  And now we're broke and up to our eyeballs in debt.

I am nothing that I wanted to be.  I am nothing like the person that I hoped to be by this time in my life because I have been to damn busy doing everything that you wanted to do and what you decided to do.  Maybe for once, just once, you ought to listen my opinions and decisions.  You have to over ride even the tiniest of suggestions! 

If you'll recall, I never wanted to open a store.  And now, if everything works out alright, I get to do everything around the house, keep my day job and spend every waking minuet making & peddling juice.

I wanted to be writer.  But that never interested you.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

86

$86,000.  Eighty-Six Thousand Dollars.

"Mickey said that Don made eighty-six thousand dollars last month," Shawn said. 
Why are you telling me this?  Do you think it will make me feel better?
"I really don't give a fuck what Don did!" I exclaimed.  "And why is Mickey going around telling other people's business?  It's none of our fucking business!!"

We brought in around thirty dollars the day before.  I don't understand why everything--EVERYTHING-- always has to so fucking difficult for us.  Don is a liar; he sells junk at outrageous prices; he screws people every chance he gets.  We get fucked because we're decent people.  Don is simply a bad person.  He's not a good person.

"We can't compare ourselves to what others are doing," Shawn said.
"Of course we can!  Isn't that why we started all this?  Because we saw what everyone else was doing?"

I never wanted to open a store.  I told him that.  He always talks about having a kid.  I've told him I may never want to have a child.  I've told him that.  Will he talk me into that too?

Out of the blue today, as though a switch were flipped, I became suddenly, severely depressed.  I am not in the place where I want to be.  I am nothing that I want to be.  I have never followed my "passion" as Shawn has spoken about his metal works many, many, many times.  I always do what he wants to do.  He repeats himself often.  Ninety percent of what he is saying is repeat conversation.  After the third time, it's hard to feign interest.  He gets mad when I finish the sentence for him.  It's the fourth time I'd heard it.  I could tell your story back to you as though it were my own.  I will not allow myself to have a baby because I was talked into it.  And I don't necessarily want to be alive just so I can work 15 hours per day.  I want to live.

Don't tell me these things take time.  It didn't take time for Don the Liar, or for Chuck & Melanie, or for Gerald & Angie.  Fucking hyprocrites.  Thirty fucking dollars....


My mom asked me to make copies of Bob's slideshow.  I'd put it off for so long.  I don't have to watch it or anything, just move files and click the mouse.  It's hard to believe he's really gone.  Still.  The CD drive whirs as I type this.  It's still so difficult.  I still don't understand why Bob had to die.  It's been six weeks and it still doesn't make any damn sense to me.  I feel as if as long as I've been alive, nothing has gone the way that it should.  I told Shawn I was a jinx because when I watch the store a single customer never enters.  I compare that to the day of the first memory I can remember.  Maybe I am jinx.  Look at what has followed me.  Look at what I have followed.  Fucking jinx.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

The Dark Side of Crazy

Before everything happened with Bob, there was all that happened with Don.  I quickly learned exactly what sort of person Don is and what he is capable of.  I hope karma returns him the favor ten fold.  Shawn thought I was going to leave him, which is stupid.  I have only a couple of reasons for leaving him and one ongoing problem a few years ago was one of them.  I stayed.

I have 4 pages of notes in the depth of my purse.  I wrote these notes throughout the days after Bob passed away.  I always meant to come back around to it.  I wanted to write about it because I thought it might help with the pain.  It's been a month and three days since Bob died and yes, it's still quite painful.  It still hurts very much.

I haven't had time to write.  I didn't even want to write about everything that happened with Don.  I was too angry.  We lost $1800.  We haven't had anything in our saving account for three years and we LOST $1800.  I'm still angry.  I never wanted to open a vapor store.  I tried to explain this to Shawn months ago but it doesn't really matter what I want.  I'm not interested in this stuff, not enthusiastic, not excited.  It doesn't matter what I want.

Sometimes I think I'd be better off alone.  No one to irritate me or mess up my mood.  No one to make messes and leaves trails behind them for me to clean up.  But then I'd be alone.

After everything that's happened, I feel like I'm starting to lose my mind.  It's taking all my energy to not swallow an entire bottle of pills.  Who would feed the dogs if I didn't?  Shawn would never remember.  So I live.  I continue on.

I never wanted any of this  I crave simplicity.  That's why I love for things to be neat and clean and organized.  The alternative stresses me out and makes me depressed.  Shawn doesn't understand this, no matter how I've tried to explain it.  It doesn't matter what I want, even if it would make me happy.  Shawn does these things to try and provide better for me; he thinks that will make me happy.  It doesn't matter.

It's much too soon to write about Bob and the FUCKED UP things that happened after his death.  I cry now just thinking of it.  I cry because there's nothing else I can do.

Why does Don get to be an immediate success?  I'll give the answer:  It's because he's a bad person.  We've tried so many things, so many ventures but we always fail because we're good people.  We're generous and kind and decent.  These sort of people never make it unless they're characters in a movie.  I am not saying this merely because I am bitter--I've seen it time and time again.  Decent people always seem to fail, to be without.


The meek shall inherit the earth.  What's left of it will be up to those who were successful.  Most likely, they will have scorched the earth and that will be all that's left.

I think it's really fucked up that Bob died.  I think what happened with out families is really fucked up.  And I think it's really fucked up with the mess he left us when we're already working 2 jobs a piece six days a week and now we have to spend every available Sunday over there fixing this shit.  We could've done this a long time ago if we'd known anything about it.

I just need things to be simple.
I need things to be simpler. 

Everyone says Oh just give it time, these things take time.  Fuck that!  Shawn wanted to start a business so we refinanced the house, took a loan, then another loan and barely got by for 2 or 3 years.  The minuet it begins to become lucrative he says OH!  Let's open a vapor store.  So now we owe almost $10,000 to Visa and around $3000 or $4000 to his sister (give or take) ON TOP OF AND IN ADDITION TO  all the other loans for his first business.

Give it time?  Don opened and immediately was making money hand over fist.  His wife put in her 2 week notice at her job TWO WEEKS after he opened.  I know exactly what he was making per month because we made the product.  I know how much he was ordering from us and I know what he was selling it for.  Give it time?  Unbelievable!  I wish we'd never met Don.  We could've continued on our merry way.  I'd be down right HAPPY to stay at the job that I hate if none of this would have ever happened.

Every time I cross the tracks on my way home I imagine a train clipping my vehicle.  Not enough to cause serious injuries, you know, just enough that Santa Fe would give me a huge settlement to keep my mouth shut.  It's crazy, I know, wishing for that to happen.  As I've said, I feel like I'm losing my damn mind. 

It's really a miracle I haven't slit my wrists yet.  Miracles?  Where is God?  WHERE?!  I feel alone and abandoned.  ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING ANYMORE? 

I can't take much more.  I've said this before, I know, but I seriously cannot take much more.  If so much as the weight of a feather falls on me I'm gonna crack.  "God only gives you what you can handle...."  Really? (tell that to anyone who's attempted suicide)  REALLY?  Well, I've had about as much as a person can fucking handle, alright?  This is IT.  This is my limit!

Every time I think things have to start looking up, they fall again.  It's enough to make a person lose their damn mind.  Give it time...

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Titus has nothing on our family

kelly has convinced Marge that when Bob was having his asthma attack, Sheila put "something" in his nebulizer and murdered him.  They believe my paranets covered it up because they paid for the funeral services.

Sheila stole morphine from my dying uncle.  Once Mom caught her in the act, the drugs were placed in a lock box and my sister was banned from coming inside. (this was last summer)  Junkies typically do not save up their drugs, they use them.  Also, Bob did not have $5 million life insurance policy.  He had a small one left in the names of his children.  But mrage will be convinced of this until the day she dies.  Thanks kelly. 

Titles are Unnecessary

Dear Bob,

I really wanted to write about everything that's happened.  This may be my only chance for a while but I'm too exhausted to account for the last 3 days events.  I wake up in the morning and it's like nothing happened.  As I brush my teeth, it hits me that you're gone.  I think, "I can't believe Bob's gone."  Then I'm a complete mess all day.

I keep going over the What Ifs and it's making me crazy.  Your family is making me crazy and giving Shawn a new kind of stress.  Your sister has completely lost her mind.  So much in fact that I've completely written her off.  I'm done with her.  If I could break her nose, I might feel better but I won't do that.  I keep thinking about the time you taught me how to play "Enter Sandman" on the guitar--the first song I ever learned--but hearing the song now doesn't make cry.  I cry for a lot of other reasons.

Your children are Shawn's and my priority.  If things head south, we will take care of them.  I still think if you'd have moved out so many years ago as you told me, you might still be alive.  But maybe not.  You still would have smoked and ate pounds and pounds of red meat.  I respect you for staying and I respect for you for not believing in divorce.  I respect that you always defended her.  I respect that you always believed things would turn a corner.

I don't believe what is being said.  Same goes for Shawn.  You had a weak heart and it failed.  I do not question that.  You had nothing to offer by leaving us.

The whole world has gone mad.  Both families are going mad.  But you'd be so proud at how your children are handling themselves.  Yes, they've cried but their behavior is impeccable.

I miss you.  Maybe where you are it'll be like ten minuets and we'll all meet again.  The last three days have felt like ten years.  If you are in Heaven, touch your children now and then, leave a message for poor Kristin.  Your heart stopped while hers continued on and it will be with her forever.  I'm keeping an eye on her as always.

My heart is broken and I miss you and your thousands of jokes (where did you store them all?) and your quick wit and odd humor.  I hope to see you soon.