Perhaps, finally, the job market is beginning to open. At least one can now see light around the edges of the heavy iron door blocking the tunnel that leads to employment. I have been told I have a second interview with a Judge upcoming. I have not yet received the call from the judge. I am being patient. I thought I blew the first interview, so a second interview feels like manna from heaven at this point.
I opened the state bar's attorney employment listings. There are only two new postings in the last 7 days. One is for a traffic/crime attorney who must be licensed in two states, and starts out as low as $25k a year. Sure, you can live and pay student loans on $25k a year . . . if you can some how convince the economy that you need to live at 1965 costs.
The other was for a corporate attorney . . . with at least five years experience.
I was told recently that the only thing worse than being a 2008 graduate was being a 2009 graduate. I am uncertain that is true. If I had graduated in 2009, would I have one year less of unemployment? Or will it take the 2009 grads more than a year to find a job after I find one? I guess time will tell.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Writing again
Something has changed. I do not know what, but I am writing again. And recognizing the things I am avoiding (vs. blaming my avoidance on other things.) I simply do not want to do some of the things I am doing. But when you are broke, and cannot find secure employment, you do what you can.
There is a myth, not even an urban myth, but more of a life myth, that if you are artistic in some fashion (write, play music, take mundane everyday things and turn them into works of art) that you need a back up plan, some guarantee of earning a wage. I want to write. But, being uncertain if I could make a living doing it (and needing additional education to learn to write well - or at least better) I continued in school. I thought that if I graduated law school, and became an attorney, that I would have some basic needs met; an income, insurance, ability to repair home and transporation, etc. etc.
It does not matter to me right now, this day, that the economy took a nose dive. Going to law school, becoming an attorney did none of the things it was supposed to do for me. I am bitter. I am (and have been) angry at the legal profession, the politicians, and the financial 'gurus' that this has happened. It is not personal to them, but it is personal to me. I WENT BACK TO SCHOOL (as our President is now apparently urging folks to do) and it made my situation worse, not better. I wanted my life to be a model of success for some who grew up poor. It has turned into a dire warning instead. NOT THE FUCKING PLAN.
Is it karma? Did I so ignore my life plan as per the Universe or god or whomever that I am not to be allowed to make money doing the thing I went to school for?
Ah, damn. How much longer can this go on???
There is a myth, not even an urban myth, but more of a life myth, that if you are artistic in some fashion (write, play music, take mundane everyday things and turn them into works of art) that you need a back up plan, some guarantee of earning a wage. I want to write. But, being uncertain if I could make a living doing it (and needing additional education to learn to write well - or at least better) I continued in school. I thought that if I graduated law school, and became an attorney, that I would have some basic needs met; an income, insurance, ability to repair home and transporation, etc. etc.
It does not matter to me right now, this day, that the economy took a nose dive. Going to law school, becoming an attorney did none of the things it was supposed to do for me. I am bitter. I am (and have been) angry at the legal profession, the politicians, and the financial 'gurus' that this has happened. It is not personal to them, but it is personal to me. I WENT BACK TO SCHOOL (as our President is now apparently urging folks to do) and it made my situation worse, not better. I wanted my life to be a model of success for some who grew up poor. It has turned into a dire warning instead. NOT THE FUCKING PLAN.
Is it karma? Did I so ignore my life plan as per the Universe or god or whomever that I am not to be allowed to make money doing the thing I went to school for?
Ah, damn. How much longer can this go on???
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Laughter
So much is just total crap right now, but not everything is. That would be an absolute, and there are no absolutes in this thing we call life.
So, after Grouse Monday, with the shitty car problems, I woke Tuesday in a better, lighter mood, with hope sitting, once again, on my right shoulder. I cannot explain hope's existence in my life.
Several months ago I accepted that this was just a shit time. I have, on occassion, thought that the shit time was drawing to an end, only to have that hope dashed by car windows that would not roll up during the rainiest part of the year, lost glasses that must be replaced, and of course now my car with the hole in the valve cover. I cannot explain the presence of hope. I can only guess that it is due to the wishes sent to me by friends and other loved ones. The laughter and happiness of my children. The fact that a dear friend let me borrow their car. And solving an old mystery (that is a story for another time.)
My son, my dear dear son, who is really tall for his age. My son who will be "the" story other children tell their parents after the first gym class day this school year (he's how tall? was he left behind? are you sure he isn't like developmentally disabled and older than 11? he can't be six feet tall, you must be wrong!) My son has an amazing sense of humor.
So, Monday, Super Shit Day, after we got the borrowed car, we made a quick run to the grocery store. I am blue, I need chips. Well and stuff for dinner. And bread and cereal. Okay, so we shop and I see the canned soups. We generally eat cooler food in the summer, but soup is comfort food. I wanted potato soup, but I make that myself. I thought my son would like some chicken noodle soup, which I do not make. I asked him. He said 'ew no'. I tried to talk him into it, to no avail.
Skip to the next day, it is lunch time. I am hanging in the fridge, door open, trying to figure out what we will have for lunch. He walks in, all 6 ft of him (he towers over me now). "Honey what sounds good for lunch?" In a very serious tone "I think I want soup." I started to spew frustration in his general direction, when I caught sight of his face, laughter seeping from every pore, spilling from his eyes, his mouth just opening in a loud guffaw, he says "Oh CRAP" and turns and runs from me, laughing the whole way.
Sense of humor. Sense of timing. The patience to wait for the laugh. His future wife is going to have her hands full.
Having the borrowed car has been a learning experience for him. My car, my 7 year old Saturn, is no longer new. There is a faint odor of mildew from the drivers door when you roll down the window. There is enough pet hair and food crumbs in it to embarrass the worst housekeeper. But, the seats are covered in whatever that fabric-y, nappy material is the car manufacturers use now, and the air works. Not so the borrowed car. The lovely Vega is 30 or more years old, the seats are vinyl, a/c was never a part of this vehicle. It is beautiful. It is a composition of two other Vegas neither of which were road worthy. My friend Ken (who is married to Marilyn, who was my friend first) created this Vega out of the ruins of the other two cars.
My son, let's call him Q, does not have patience for heat. He never has. On the day I brought him home from the hospital, not yet 2 days old, he screamed half way home because he was burning up in his little 'going home' outfit. What can I say? His daddy picked it out, it was appropriate for late fall. That day the temps hit 80. Q was hot. I had to make his father stop the car so I could strip him before we were half way home.
Okay, so the Vega has no air. Sitting on hot vinyl seats feel like sitting in hot melted cheese dip. He got in the car yesterday and told me how much he hates the car. I told him it was good for him to learn what it is like for people who have vinyl seats, in fact what life was like for me as a child.
Tonight, we made a random run to get ice cream and a couple of other things. The seats were cool, the air flowing in from the open windows and open vents was spectacular. He decided the car was not evil incarnate after all. Until we got back in the car to head back home. The seat belt would not emerge from its hole more than 5 inches. I got back out, and tried to 'fix' the problem, but it was a no go. We had to stuff him into the back seat of the Vega. He sat in the seat, looked up at me and said "Mom I don't fit. I literally do not fit in this seat!"
And, he didn't. The back seats in the Vega (at least this one) are separated by the 'hump' just like the front seats are. For whatever reason, the back seats are not as wide as the front seats. He was sitting on the seat and part of the 'hump'.
Now, let me say that I am deeply grateful for the use of this Vega. But it will be really good if I can get the front seat restraint to act properly tomorrow.
Q swore to me that if I told the Vega story, he would do terrible things. So, please don't let him know I blogged this.
:-)
So, after Grouse Monday, with the shitty car problems, I woke Tuesday in a better, lighter mood, with hope sitting, once again, on my right shoulder. I cannot explain hope's existence in my life.
Several months ago I accepted that this was just a shit time. I have, on occassion, thought that the shit time was drawing to an end, only to have that hope dashed by car windows that would not roll up during the rainiest part of the year, lost glasses that must be replaced, and of course now my car with the hole in the valve cover. I cannot explain the presence of hope. I can only guess that it is due to the wishes sent to me by friends and other loved ones. The laughter and happiness of my children. The fact that a dear friend let me borrow their car. And solving an old mystery (that is a story for another time.)
My son, my dear dear son, who is really tall for his age. My son who will be "the" story other children tell their parents after the first gym class day this school year (he's how tall? was he left behind? are you sure he isn't like developmentally disabled and older than 11? he can't be six feet tall, you must be wrong!) My son has an amazing sense of humor.
So, Monday, Super Shit Day, after we got the borrowed car, we made a quick run to the grocery store. I am blue, I need chips. Well and stuff for dinner. And bread and cereal. Okay, so we shop and I see the canned soups. We generally eat cooler food in the summer, but soup is comfort food. I wanted potato soup, but I make that myself. I thought my son would like some chicken noodle soup, which I do not make. I asked him. He said 'ew no'. I tried to talk him into it, to no avail.
Skip to the next day, it is lunch time. I am hanging in the fridge, door open, trying to figure out what we will have for lunch. He walks in, all 6 ft of him (he towers over me now). "Honey what sounds good for lunch?" In a very serious tone "I think I want soup." I started to spew frustration in his general direction, when I caught sight of his face, laughter seeping from every pore, spilling from his eyes, his mouth just opening in a loud guffaw, he says "Oh CRAP" and turns and runs from me, laughing the whole way.
Sense of humor. Sense of timing. The patience to wait for the laugh. His future wife is going to have her hands full.
Having the borrowed car has been a learning experience for him. My car, my 7 year old Saturn, is no longer new. There is a faint odor of mildew from the drivers door when you roll down the window. There is enough pet hair and food crumbs in it to embarrass the worst housekeeper. But, the seats are covered in whatever that fabric-y, nappy material is the car manufacturers use now, and the air works. Not so the borrowed car. The lovely Vega is 30 or more years old, the seats are vinyl, a/c was never a part of this vehicle. It is beautiful. It is a composition of two other Vegas neither of which were road worthy. My friend Ken (who is married to Marilyn, who was my friend first) created this Vega out of the ruins of the other two cars.
My son, let's call him Q, does not have patience for heat. He never has. On the day I brought him home from the hospital, not yet 2 days old, he screamed half way home because he was burning up in his little 'going home' outfit. What can I say? His daddy picked it out, it was appropriate for late fall. That day the temps hit 80. Q was hot. I had to make his father stop the car so I could strip him before we were half way home.
Okay, so the Vega has no air. Sitting on hot vinyl seats feel like sitting in hot melted cheese dip. He got in the car yesterday and told me how much he hates the car. I told him it was good for him to learn what it is like for people who have vinyl seats, in fact what life was like for me as a child.
Tonight, we made a random run to get ice cream and a couple of other things. The seats were cool, the air flowing in from the open windows and open vents was spectacular. He decided the car was not evil incarnate after all. Until we got back in the car to head back home. The seat belt would not emerge from its hole more than 5 inches. I got back out, and tried to 'fix' the problem, but it was a no go. We had to stuff him into the back seat of the Vega. He sat in the seat, looked up at me and said "Mom I don't fit. I literally do not fit in this seat!"
And, he didn't. The back seats in the Vega (at least this one) are separated by the 'hump' just like the front seats are. For whatever reason, the back seats are not as wide as the front seats. He was sitting on the seat and part of the 'hump'.
Now, let me say that I am deeply grateful for the use of this Vega. But it will be really good if I can get the front seat restraint to act properly tomorrow.
Q swore to me that if I told the Vega story, he would do terrible things. So, please don't let him know I blogged this.
:-)
Monday, August 10, 2009
Things could be worse . . .
or could they?
Okay, yes they could. Things could always be worse. But, the same is true for 'better' . . . things could always be better as well.
Last night something serious happened to the engine of my car. I have EXCELLENT friends, who have (once again) come to my rescue. One or two will be looking in depth at the problem, and hopefully fixing it. Another let me borrow her 'extra' car. It isn't really 'extra', it is more of an every day car, but she let me borrow it.
If my life was a dam, it would be leaking in very serious ways. There would be a hundred little Dutch boys with their thumbs in all the holes, with water still seeping through.
Several days ago I lost my eyeglasses. Long story short, they did not turn up and I had to go order new ones. Since it had been 3 years (3 seriously? how time slips by) since I had an exam, that had to happen. I find that near and distance corrective lenses are now required. I cannot wear bifocals. I tried before and was nauseated the entire time. I thought I would get used to them, but did not. I could not afford to get the extra testing, or the distance glasses. So I got only the reading glasses.
I did not tell myself I would be back soon for the distance glasses. Just as today I did not tell my friends that I would 'pay them back' for all the help and favors some day soon. It is horrible, but I no longer trust that the future will be brighter. I went to law school, graduated and am a licensed attorney, making less than I have made in more than a decade. How can I trust that the future will be brighter? For a long time I did, and thought that this or that that could not get done now, would be done soon, because I did the work, the reward MUST be coming. Too many things are on that "will be done soon" list now to trust that they will occur.
Damn damn damn. This loss of hope is terrible. Hope must return.
But, if things happen in 3's, I have one more coming, don't I? Or can I count the eye exam and the glasses as two?
Okay, yes they could. Things could always be worse. But, the same is true for 'better' . . . things could always be better as well.
Last night something serious happened to the engine of my car. I have EXCELLENT friends, who have (once again) come to my rescue. One or two will be looking in depth at the problem, and hopefully fixing it. Another let me borrow her 'extra' car. It isn't really 'extra', it is more of an every day car, but she let me borrow it.
If my life was a dam, it would be leaking in very serious ways. There would be a hundred little Dutch boys with their thumbs in all the holes, with water still seeping through.
Several days ago I lost my eyeglasses. Long story short, they did not turn up and I had to go order new ones. Since it had been 3 years (3 seriously? how time slips by) since I had an exam, that had to happen. I find that near and distance corrective lenses are now required. I cannot wear bifocals. I tried before and was nauseated the entire time. I thought I would get used to them, but did not. I could not afford to get the extra testing, or the distance glasses. So I got only the reading glasses.
I did not tell myself I would be back soon for the distance glasses. Just as today I did not tell my friends that I would 'pay them back' for all the help and favors some day soon. It is horrible, but I no longer trust that the future will be brighter. I went to law school, graduated and am a licensed attorney, making less than I have made in more than a decade. How can I trust that the future will be brighter? For a long time I did, and thought that this or that that could not get done now, would be done soon, because I did the work, the reward MUST be coming. Too many things are on that "will be done soon" list now to trust that they will occur.
Damn damn damn. This loss of hope is terrible. Hope must return.
But, if things happen in 3's, I have one more coming, don't I? Or can I count the eye exam and the glasses as two?
Saturday, August 1, 2009
It's been a while . . .
I haven't written in very nearly a month. 30 days. It would be a month if I had waited to write this tomorrow.
Laid off again. Yes, again. That is what happens when your position is intermittent. Am I happy? No. I can't say happy plays into this. There are tasks I need to perform and now will have time to do so. Some of those tasks involve getting my son ready for school. His clothes are becoming very expensive. The size of his foot required purchasing athletic shoes online. We haven't looked for dress shoes. I am hoping the pair we purchased last year may still fit him this year. Maybe.
I have to find my path and get off this nauseating roller-coaster.
Laid off again. Yes, again. That is what happens when your position is intermittent. Am I happy? No. I can't say happy plays into this. There are tasks I need to perform and now will have time to do so. Some of those tasks involve getting my son ready for school. His clothes are becoming very expensive. The size of his foot required purchasing athletic shoes online. We haven't looked for dress shoes. I am hoping the pair we purchased last year may still fit him this year. Maybe.
I have to find my path and get off this nauseating roller-coaster.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I used to be fierce.
Once upon a time, I was fierce. I don't mean that I fought a lot, well not physically, but I did fight for things I believe(d) in or against things I am/was certain are/was hurtful to myself or others.
Today, I find myself avoiding phone calls, not opening mail, and staring at a card given to me by a friend, given with the admonishment to not open it until I got home. I am afraid to open it.
I have my intermittent/temporary government job. I have the possibility (if I pass the background check) of another temporary position. Where are the full time jobs?
The desire to be an attorney is pretty much gone now. The degree, the license, they are merely expensive pieces of paper. Expensive in a way that has destroyed parts of my life, parts of my well being.
Damn.
Today, I find myself avoiding phone calls, not opening mail, and staring at a card given to me by a friend, given with the admonishment to not open it until I got home. I am afraid to open it.
I have my intermittent/temporary government job. I have the possibility (if I pass the background check) of another temporary position. Where are the full time jobs?
The desire to be an attorney is pretty much gone now. The degree, the license, they are merely expensive pieces of paper. Expensive in a way that has destroyed parts of my life, parts of my well being.
Damn.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
a Post about Hope
Hope is something that I have struggled with in my life. Struggled to have it. Struggled to be rid of it. Hope and I have epic fights. Is it like this for everyone? I don't know. Call me crazy, but I thought hope was simply there, something you had or didn't have. Not that it was something that you could miss with your entire being, or wish would go away.
There was a time, not so very long ago, when I was completely, madly and stupidly in love with a man. I was not married to this man. In fact he was in a position of authority over me. Because I believed him to be an upstanding kind of guy - Because I gave him every opportunity to make the things he did, the things I did, the things we did together mean absolute zero - Because he let me believe these things meant something to him too - Because I wanted so much to believe - I believed his lies (what he would probably call 'possibilities that did not come to fruition', but he did not try to make them happen, only said we would do x or y and then did nothing to make the things happen) and ended up emotionally slammed against a brick wall. Repeatedly.
Despite the emotional beatings, despite KNOWING beyond a doubt that he was never going to be the man he set out to make me believe he was, I could not shake hope. Hope sat on my shoulders and would not leave. I tossed it in the creek along with a gift he gave me. I burned it in things I had that would burn. I lit black candles and wished it away. It did not leave.
Hope would periodically slither down around my chest and squeeze so hard I could not breathe. I had to see this man everyday (yeah someone I worked with) and would sob all the way home thanks to his stupidity and cruelty (going to the printer to get some document to find the Match.com e-mails he had printed off; finding a porn DVD in the laptop he had used last, etc.) I was done with him, done with the job, long before I was able to leave that office, long before hope released me from its grip.
When the day came that I could look to the sky and not see him, I felt blessed beyond belief.
Now? Now there are days I would not be able to find hope with both hands if it were plastered to my ass.
Now I need hope sitting on my shoulders. Now hope feels more like a thin and flighty scarf than the weighty boa constrictor it felt like before. I keep finding that it is so close to weightless, so transparent that it keeps slipping off. I keep having to search for it, somewhere behind me, and try again to get it to rest upon my shoulders.
I feel that instead of hoping, I am merely trying to have hope.
I have found that the days when I woke thinking "this could be the day!" are gone. The best I can muster is "this is one day closer to the end of this crap time". Is this hope? Or simple logic? Does it matter? It is as close to hope as I can get right now.
I need this to get better soon.
There was a time, not so very long ago, when I was completely, madly and stupidly in love with a man. I was not married to this man. In fact he was in a position of authority over me. Because I believed him to be an upstanding kind of guy - Because I gave him every opportunity to make the things he did, the things I did, the things we did together mean absolute zero - Because he let me believe these things meant something to him too - Because I wanted so much to believe - I believed his lies (what he would probably call 'possibilities that did not come to fruition', but he did not try to make them happen, only said we would do x or y and then did nothing to make the things happen) and ended up emotionally slammed against a brick wall. Repeatedly.
Despite the emotional beatings, despite KNOWING beyond a doubt that he was never going to be the man he set out to make me believe he was, I could not shake hope. Hope sat on my shoulders and would not leave. I tossed it in the creek along with a gift he gave me. I burned it in things I had that would burn. I lit black candles and wished it away. It did not leave.
Hope would periodically slither down around my chest and squeeze so hard I could not breathe. I had to see this man everyday (yeah someone I worked with) and would sob all the way home thanks to his stupidity and cruelty (going to the printer to get some document to find the Match.com e-mails he had printed off; finding a porn DVD in the laptop he had used last, etc.) I was done with him, done with the job, long before I was able to leave that office, long before hope released me from its grip.
When the day came that I could look to the sky and not see him, I felt blessed beyond belief.
Now? Now there are days I would not be able to find hope with both hands if it were plastered to my ass.
Now I need hope sitting on my shoulders. Now hope feels more like a thin and flighty scarf than the weighty boa constrictor it felt like before. I keep finding that it is so close to weightless, so transparent that it keeps slipping off. I keep having to search for it, somewhere behind me, and try again to get it to rest upon my shoulders.
I feel that instead of hoping, I am merely trying to have hope.
I have found that the days when I woke thinking "this could be the day!" are gone. The best I can muster is "this is one day closer to the end of this crap time". Is this hope? Or simple logic? Does it matter? It is as close to hope as I can get right now.
I need this to get better soon.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Interesting Days . . .
Interesting is a catch-all phrase isn't it? It could mean good, bad or neutral. Just something that sparks a thought, some degree of connection perhaps, to a degree, not necessarily a high degree.
My conflict of interest was worked around. I got the permission of the old client to work on the case. It's all good. I lost out on a week's worth of pay, but at least I am still there, potentially for a long, long time.
I had 2 hearings on the 10th. That is, one is still pending on the 10th. Regarding the other one, I withdrew from the case. I realized that I do not have the resources to effectively address litigation cases when the plaintiff does not have substantial $$ to pay up front. This guy did not. I could see me conducting depositions, owing a court reporter, and never getting paid by the guy. So, I asked him to find another attorney, and withdrew. He has a good case. Just no money to back it up.
I was then contacted by a temp service I signed up with, for an interview with a large firm in town. These jobs tend to last for as long as a person needs them to (though that has not been true in the last couple of years.) BUT OF COURSE, the interviews are being conducted on the 10th, at the same time the hearing is taking place. I have asked if there might be another time, but so far have not heard back. For now, I have the temp government job, and I am happy there, hoping it lasts for as long as I need it.
June 10th seems like it is a pivotal day. A friend's daughter is having surgery on the 11th and my friend is flying to her on the 10th. Another friend is on vacation, returning home on the 9th
. . . and dealing with reality (and whatever the days off have brought) on the 10th.
I have, in these past weeks, repaired my lawn mower, repaired my car (with help!), repaired the week wacker. I am uncertain why the Universe has decided I need to do more learning, this time in the home care area, but there ya go. I am learning.
My son tells me I am 'stalking' a house. Not my house, but a house 'up the street'. There is a small development area with houses in various states of compeletion. The economy tanked and the houses have sat for a year or so, empty, with little or no work being done. One was a shell for a long time, but it now at least has its outer skin. The house I love is off in a cul-de-sac. It is the only one there at the moment, though there is room for 2 or 3 more homes. The house looks complete from what I can see peeking in the windows. The yard is a muddy mess, but if someone buys it, that can be taken care of quickly. I dream of suddenly coming into money and purchasing that house. It looks as if there is a decent sized room at the front that could be a library/office.
I should say that I day-dream of buying the house. In my 'real dreams' I am looking at a run-down apartment with uneven floors, currently occupied by an old man and his cats. The apartment smells of cabbage.
I prefer my day-dreams.
My conflict of interest was worked around. I got the permission of the old client to work on the case. It's all good. I lost out on a week's worth of pay, but at least I am still there, potentially for a long, long time.
I had 2 hearings on the 10th. That is, one is still pending on the 10th. Regarding the other one, I withdrew from the case. I realized that I do not have the resources to effectively address litigation cases when the plaintiff does not have substantial $$ to pay up front. This guy did not. I could see me conducting depositions, owing a court reporter, and never getting paid by the guy. So, I asked him to find another attorney, and withdrew. He has a good case. Just no money to back it up.
I was then contacted by a temp service I signed up with, for an interview with a large firm in town. These jobs tend to last for as long as a person needs them to (though that has not been true in the last couple of years.) BUT OF COURSE, the interviews are being conducted on the 10th, at the same time the hearing is taking place. I have asked if there might be another time, but so far have not heard back. For now, I have the temp government job, and I am happy there, hoping it lasts for as long as I need it.
June 10th seems like it is a pivotal day. A friend's daughter is having surgery on the 11th and my friend is flying to her on the 10th. Another friend is on vacation, returning home on the 9th
. . . and dealing with reality (and whatever the days off have brought) on the 10th.
I have, in these past weeks, repaired my lawn mower, repaired my car (with help!), repaired the week wacker. I am uncertain why the Universe has decided I need to do more learning, this time in the home care area, but there ya go. I am learning.
My son tells me I am 'stalking' a house. Not my house, but a house 'up the street'. There is a small development area with houses in various states of compeletion. The economy tanked and the houses have sat for a year or so, empty, with little or no work being done. One was a shell for a long time, but it now at least has its outer skin. The house I love is off in a cul-de-sac. It is the only one there at the moment, though there is room for 2 or 3 more homes. The house looks complete from what I can see peeking in the windows. The yard is a muddy mess, but if someone buys it, that can be taken care of quickly. I dream of suddenly coming into money and purchasing that house. It looks as if there is a decent sized room at the front that could be a library/office.
I should say that I day-dream of buying the house. In my 'real dreams' I am looking at a run-down apartment with uneven floors, currently occupied by an old man and his cats. The apartment smells of cabbage.
I prefer my day-dreams.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
NO! DAMMIT NO!!!
So, shortly after I posted last Monday, I got a call from EPA. I did not get to the phone in time, and actually did not speak to anyone until Tuesday. But, they re-called me to work on a FOIA request beginning today. (the Tuesday after Memorial Day.)
I went in, gathered my badge, and began attending meetings to get started on the new project. ONLY to find out, 10 minutes or less into the meeting re: the actual project, that I had worked on some part of this 'on the other side' and there was a conflict.
I was allowed to research the issue there, and call my former employer to ask about a waiver. Yeah, 3 hours of 'work' and then I had to leave.
I have not been able to speak to or get any information from the man who makes decisions at my former employer's office. I drafted a 'waiver' and e-mailed it to him/them. I have heard nothing. I don't know how long EPA will give me to try to work this out. Maybe not beyond tomorrow.
I am tired of the rain, I need some sun.
I went in, gathered my badge, and began attending meetings to get started on the new project. ONLY to find out, 10 minutes or less into the meeting re: the actual project, that I had worked on some part of this 'on the other side' and there was a conflict.
I was allowed to research the issue there, and call my former employer to ask about a waiver. Yeah, 3 hours of 'work' and then I had to leave.
I have not been able to speak to or get any information from the man who makes decisions at my former employer's office. I drafted a 'waiver' and e-mailed it to him/them. I have heard nothing. I don't know how long EPA will give me to try to work this out. Maybe not beyond tomorrow.
I am tired of the rain, I need some sun.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Sam Finally Sleeps
Sam snuck out of his bedroom, stepping carefully around the squeaks in the hallway floor. He slowly, carefully put his head around the corner of his mother’s bedroom door. He was holding his breath. The TV was on, as it always was when Mom slept. He waited until the scene changed so that the room lit to something brighter than dusk. He never had anything against Happy Days re-runs, but now he truly appreciated the old show.
Sam looked carefully. Mom’s hair was just hair. Just hair. He visibly relaxed, releasing the breath he’d been holding. Silently he turned away, avoiding the squeaks again, and slipped back into his bedroom. He shut the door as quietly as possible, which was pretty quiet. He had figured out how to use the WD-40, despite the push-button-nozzle having gone missing. Sam turned the light up and looked around his room.
No. It hadn’t been a dream. Mom really had taken all his spiral notebooks when she found him still drawing at 1:00 a.m. And that snaky thing was on the floor. Sam poked it with his foot. If it really had been alive, it was dead now.
1:00 a.m. was really really late for a fifth grader to be awake on a school night, he agreed with Mom about that. But he hadn’t known how late it had gotten. He was trying to finish a story line before he forgot it. That’s all. He just didn’t look up at his Sponge Bob digital alarm clock.
Sam sat on the corner of his bed. It was kind of low because the box springs were sitting directly on the floor. Right after Mom bought the new bed for him, he’d kept trampolining on it, and broke the box springs. Mom was starting law school then and hadn’t had the extra money to buy another box springs, so she put it on the floor and told him that was his punishment. He had to sleep that way until after she was through law school and could afford to replace it.
Sam wondered if the fact that she was in what she called ‘an in-between time’ had anything to do with what he saw. The amazing thing he saw. In-between to Mom meant that she’d sat for the bar but didn’t know yet if she passed. She kept calling the bar examiners ‘evil little trolls’.
Sam knew that when Mom was stressed she was much more apt to act like her Mom, the grandmother who passed away when Sam was only two years old. And Mom had classic stories of her mother’s insane reactions to situations.
One night, Sam saw his Mom go after the old cat. The old cat, Binks, was suffering from some sort of kitty dementia, and had bitten Sam on the cheek in the middle of the night. No one knew why. Everyone but Binks had been asleep at the time. Sam and his sister, Allison, watched their Mom as she woke, already in a dead heat running for her child who was screaming in obvious pain. Mom grabbed a broom and chased Binks all over the house, barely ever touching him with the ends of the bristles, but wailing some aboriginal scream that caused all the animals in the house to hide. Heck, Sam and Allison hid too.
Maybe that was the forerunner of the snakes.
Mom had joked about it before, but he hadn’t believed her. She joked all the time with him and Allison that when she was PMS’y or angry that she turned into her "real self", some Goddess who was sort of a mix of the outward characteristics of both Medusa and Kali. The three of them had laughed themselves stupid one night while driving in the car. Mom could make them laugh harder than anything sometimes. A smile played on Sam’s face for a moment thinking about how funny Mom could be.
When it first happened, Sam thought he was seeing things. Mom had crawled out of her bed and headed for the bathroom, and Sam tried to pretend sleep quickly, but she was quick this night. When she saw him, she probably wasn’t really awake yet, but there he was, drawing cartoon characters with language balloons hovering near their mouths.
She got taller. She literally seemed to grow. Sam would bet that when Mom was mad, she was at least 6 feet 4 inches tall, and not the 5 foot 7 she normally was. But that was normal stuff. That could happen on a sunny day in the middle of June, in the Wal Mart. That growth didn’t surprise him.
Sam poked the thing in the floor again. It was turning a funny shade of gray. He pushed it with his toe a little harder, until the things face was toward him. Snake. It had to be some sort of snake. And it had fallen out of his mother’s head.
Maybe if he hadn’t said "about 10?" when Mom asked him if he knew what time it was, she wouldn’t have gone over whatever cliff edge she’d stepped off of. Maybe. Or maybe it would have happened anyway. But when the word "ten" had come out of his mouth, Mom grew. This always sort of made him laugh because Mom was virtually harmless, making the growth pointlessly funny and not scary at all. Plus it reminded him of a peacock spreading its tail feathers. That’s what really made him laugh; thinking of Mom spreading her tail feathers, and strutting while she lectured.
As she grew though, she reached up to her face and rubbed it, trying to wake up more before she said anything. Her face rub turned into a hair rake, which is when he realized her hair looked more like snakes than hair. When a ‘chunk’ fell off, it wiggled and slithered, and showed its fangs before it laid still. That was disturbing. But then, Sam realized she was still rubbing her face, trying to wake up or calm down, he wasn’t sure which and picking up notebooks at the same time!
Four arms. Not two. Four arms. Mom was still there, but she was now in the body of a 6 foot 4 inch, four-armed, snake haired Goddess.
She never said a word. She just quickly picked up all of his notebooks, not just the one he was currently working in, shook her head "no: making the snakes wave to and fro, and walked back to her room.
He wasn’t sure what to do. He grabbed his cell phone and texted Allison. "r u awake? do u know about mom and snakes?"
He started pacing. Then he was afraid Mom might hear him. So he turned his light back down and opened his door a couple of inches so he could hear her if she got up again. He climbed under his covers and waited for Allison to respond. He was pretty sure she would be awake. She was in college, so she studied late a lot. He was just starting to feel like he might be able to sleep sometime tonight when his phone trilled. Allison’s response was "yes. lets talk tomoro. no danger. go to sleep."
Sam pulled Kleenex from the box and covered the snake. Then he put his phone back in his back pack, and laid down. Everything seemed okay again. The patterns of light from Mom’s TV played along the door of his bedroom. He could hear her snoring softly. Allison said it was okay, that there was no danger. So Mom was some freak of nature. Or maybe she really was some lesser Goddess of some archaic religion. Did it really matter? She was still his Mom and he loved her fiercely. Besides, if anybody ever messed with him, having a Mom with snakes for hair and four arms could come in handy.
Finally able to go back to sleep, Sam began to lightly snore.
Sam looked carefully. Mom’s hair was just hair. Just hair. He visibly relaxed, releasing the breath he’d been holding. Silently he turned away, avoiding the squeaks again, and slipped back into his bedroom. He shut the door as quietly as possible, which was pretty quiet. He had figured out how to use the WD-40, despite the push-button-nozzle having gone missing. Sam turned the light up and looked around his room.
No. It hadn’t been a dream. Mom really had taken all his spiral notebooks when she found him still drawing at 1:00 a.m. And that snaky thing was on the floor. Sam poked it with his foot. If it really had been alive, it was dead now.
1:00 a.m. was really really late for a fifth grader to be awake on a school night, he agreed with Mom about that. But he hadn’t known how late it had gotten. He was trying to finish a story line before he forgot it. That’s all. He just didn’t look up at his Sponge Bob digital alarm clock.
Sam sat on the corner of his bed. It was kind of low because the box springs were sitting directly on the floor. Right after Mom bought the new bed for him, he’d kept trampolining on it, and broke the box springs. Mom was starting law school then and hadn’t had the extra money to buy another box springs, so she put it on the floor and told him that was his punishment. He had to sleep that way until after she was through law school and could afford to replace it.
Sam wondered if the fact that she was in what she called ‘an in-between time’ had anything to do with what he saw. The amazing thing he saw. In-between to Mom meant that she’d sat for the bar but didn’t know yet if she passed. She kept calling the bar examiners ‘evil little trolls’.
Sam knew that when Mom was stressed she was much more apt to act like her Mom, the grandmother who passed away when Sam was only two years old. And Mom had classic stories of her mother’s insane reactions to situations.
One night, Sam saw his Mom go after the old cat. The old cat, Binks, was suffering from some sort of kitty dementia, and had bitten Sam on the cheek in the middle of the night. No one knew why. Everyone but Binks had been asleep at the time. Sam and his sister, Allison, watched their Mom as she woke, already in a dead heat running for her child who was screaming in obvious pain. Mom grabbed a broom and chased Binks all over the house, barely ever touching him with the ends of the bristles, but wailing some aboriginal scream that caused all the animals in the house to hide. Heck, Sam and Allison hid too.
Maybe that was the forerunner of the snakes.
Mom had joked about it before, but he hadn’t believed her. She joked all the time with him and Allison that when she was PMS’y or angry that she turned into her "real self", some Goddess who was sort of a mix of the outward characteristics of both Medusa and Kali. The three of them had laughed themselves stupid one night while driving in the car. Mom could make them laugh harder than anything sometimes. A smile played on Sam’s face for a moment thinking about how funny Mom could be.
When it first happened, Sam thought he was seeing things. Mom had crawled out of her bed and headed for the bathroom, and Sam tried to pretend sleep quickly, but she was quick this night. When she saw him, she probably wasn’t really awake yet, but there he was, drawing cartoon characters with language balloons hovering near their mouths.
She got taller. She literally seemed to grow. Sam would bet that when Mom was mad, she was at least 6 feet 4 inches tall, and not the 5 foot 7 she normally was. But that was normal stuff. That could happen on a sunny day in the middle of June, in the Wal Mart. That growth didn’t surprise him.
Sam poked the thing in the floor again. It was turning a funny shade of gray. He pushed it with his toe a little harder, until the things face was toward him. Snake. It had to be some sort of snake. And it had fallen out of his mother’s head.
Maybe if he hadn’t said "about 10?" when Mom asked him if he knew what time it was, she wouldn’t have gone over whatever cliff edge she’d stepped off of. Maybe. Or maybe it would have happened anyway. But when the word "ten" had come out of his mouth, Mom grew. This always sort of made him laugh because Mom was virtually harmless, making the growth pointlessly funny and not scary at all. Plus it reminded him of a peacock spreading its tail feathers. That’s what really made him laugh; thinking of Mom spreading her tail feathers, and strutting while she lectured.
As she grew though, she reached up to her face and rubbed it, trying to wake up more before she said anything. Her face rub turned into a hair rake, which is when he realized her hair looked more like snakes than hair. When a ‘chunk’ fell off, it wiggled and slithered, and showed its fangs before it laid still. That was disturbing. But then, Sam realized she was still rubbing her face, trying to wake up or calm down, he wasn’t sure which and picking up notebooks at the same time!
Four arms. Not two. Four arms. Mom was still there, but she was now in the body of a 6 foot 4 inch, four-armed, snake haired Goddess.
She never said a word. She just quickly picked up all of his notebooks, not just the one he was currently working in, shook her head "no: making the snakes wave to and fro, and walked back to her room.
He wasn’t sure what to do. He grabbed his cell phone and texted Allison. "r u awake? do u know about mom and snakes?"
He started pacing. Then he was afraid Mom might hear him. So he turned his light back down and opened his door a couple of inches so he could hear her if she got up again. He climbed under his covers and waited for Allison to respond. He was pretty sure she would be awake. She was in college, so she studied late a lot. He was just starting to feel like he might be able to sleep sometime tonight when his phone trilled. Allison’s response was "yes. lets talk tomoro. no danger. go to sleep."
Sam pulled Kleenex from the box and covered the snake. Then he put his phone back in his back pack, and laid down. Everything seemed okay again. The patterns of light from Mom’s TV played along the door of his bedroom. He could hear her snoring softly. Allison said it was okay, that there was no danger. So Mom was some freak of nature. Or maybe she really was some lesser Goddess of some archaic religion. Did it really matter? She was still his Mom and he loved her fiercely. Besides, if anybody ever messed with him, having a Mom with snakes for hair and four arms could come in handy.
Finally able to go back to sleep, Sam began to lightly snore.
Monday, May 18, 2009
ill equipped
I am ill equipped to handle this day.
It is Monday, another Monday without adequate employment. I am not sleeping well (again), the insomnia is beginning to return. Keeping my chin up is harder on Mondays than most days.
The career services director from my alma mater called today. She had been contacted by a reporter who is doing a report on recent law school grads who have opened their own law offices. I begged off, telling her that things are not going well. She asked if it was difficult to find clients. I told her it is. Somewhere in there I told her I am preparing to file bankruptcy, and that I am asking my litigation clients to find another attorney as I cannot advance case expenses.
Some how knowing something and saying it to someone else is different enough to bring on tears. Massive tears. At first it was just a few. And then I hopped in the shower. The sobbing started there. It is easier to cry in the shower isn't it? Anyway, the tears have come in waves, off and on all day. My eyes are puffy, my nose is runny. I look like I am ill.
I want to be done with this part of my life. If that means I have to give up being an attorney, I am willing to do that for some peace and security.
It is Monday, another Monday without adequate employment. I am not sleeping well (again), the insomnia is beginning to return. Keeping my chin up is harder on Mondays than most days.
The career services director from my alma mater called today. She had been contacted by a reporter who is doing a report on recent law school grads who have opened their own law offices. I begged off, telling her that things are not going well. She asked if it was difficult to find clients. I told her it is. Somewhere in there I told her I am preparing to file bankruptcy, and that I am asking my litigation clients to find another attorney as I cannot advance case expenses.
Some how knowing something and saying it to someone else is different enough to bring on tears. Massive tears. At first it was just a few. And then I hopped in the shower. The sobbing started there. It is easier to cry in the shower isn't it? Anyway, the tears have come in waves, off and on all day. My eyes are puffy, my nose is runny. I look like I am ill.
I want to be done with this part of my life. If that means I have to give up being an attorney, I am willing to do that for some peace and security.
Friday, May 15, 2009
The Double Post
I think this is my first double post (on the same day.)
For some reason, recent events in my life have me once again considering dating. Oh, I think about it frequently. But right now I am considering a plan to begin to date. The steps to take. The path I would want it to take. It has been some time since I have had a date. It was very difficult to date while in law school. The men there, the students, were mostly significantly younger than me, and the ones who weren't significantly younger were generally married or gay. Not that they weren't mostly scrumptious. Most were, and are, fine examples of the male. (whew let me tell ya!!)
Anyway.....moving on.......
I generally do not date. It is not a lack of desire for companionship (and ALL that entails.) It is a knowledge that I tend to attract very broken men. Men who cannot live without a woman to blame their inadequacies on, men who want a woman by their side for the mere look of it, men who need someone to take care of them.
Let me say there is nothing wrong with wanting to be seen with a woman at your side, or wanting someone who can take care of you when the need arises. BUT, it is simply not enough, not okay if your desire to have a woman in your life is MOSTLY for those reasons, or EVER so that you can say "oh it was her fault we didn't come to Sunday dinner" or any other blame game stupidity.
Also . . . the last guy who I really let into my life ended up having pedophilic tendencies. Yeah, makes you feel really special when you know the Wolf was living with your Little Red Riding Hoods, and YOU are the one who opened the door for him.
So I have an issue or two. We ALL have baggage or issues, whatever you want to call them. Anyone who believes they do not are stupid, crazy or so irresponsible I wouldn't want to know them anyway.
As I contemplate this dating thing, I keep remembering something a girlfriend of one of my brothers said to me when I was 14 or 15 years old. "You know you are never gonna get a boyfriend if you keep telling boys they are wrong." or something like that. She said this, Dear Rose did, as she sat on my brother's lap. I really looked up to her. Thought she was beautiful and fit with my brother. But regardless of my respect for her, I turned to her and said "If I tell a boy when he is wrong and that makes him not like me then I don't want him anyway." Or maybe I just said "So?" But you get the point.
I lost that attitude somewhere after that conversation. A fear, I think, of never having a guy. Now, I have it back. If a man can't stand up and be a man . . . if he wants to take the benefits of my cooking, my laundry, my bed, and in return tell me which Jiffy Lube he uses when my car needs an oil change, I don't need him. YES I would like to be held and cuddled and make love with a guy, but I want respect and love more.
So, maybe I will date. Maybe I won't. But I won't have another hateful or disrespectful man in my life. And, ladies, I have to tell you, there are a LOT of men/women/people (not to assume anything about your sexuality) who do not know how to be a good friend, lover, partner.
I am sick of waiting, but wait I will.
For some reason, recent events in my life have me once again considering dating. Oh, I think about it frequently. But right now I am considering a plan to begin to date. The steps to take. The path I would want it to take. It has been some time since I have had a date. It was very difficult to date while in law school. The men there, the students, were mostly significantly younger than me, and the ones who weren't significantly younger were generally married or gay. Not that they weren't mostly scrumptious. Most were, and are, fine examples of the male. (whew let me tell ya!!)
Anyway.....moving on.......
I generally do not date. It is not a lack of desire for companionship (and ALL that entails.) It is a knowledge that I tend to attract very broken men. Men who cannot live without a woman to blame their inadequacies on, men who want a woman by their side for the mere look of it, men who need someone to take care of them.
Let me say there is nothing wrong with wanting to be seen with a woman at your side, or wanting someone who can take care of you when the need arises. BUT, it is simply not enough, not okay if your desire to have a woman in your life is MOSTLY for those reasons, or EVER so that you can say "oh it was her fault we didn't come to Sunday dinner" or any other blame game stupidity.
Also . . . the last guy who I really let into my life ended up having pedophilic tendencies. Yeah, makes you feel really special when you know the Wolf was living with your Little Red Riding Hoods, and YOU are the one who opened the door for him.
So I have an issue or two. We ALL have baggage or issues, whatever you want to call them. Anyone who believes they do not are stupid, crazy or so irresponsible I wouldn't want to know them anyway.
As I contemplate this dating thing, I keep remembering something a girlfriend of one of my brothers said to me when I was 14 or 15 years old. "You know you are never gonna get a boyfriend if you keep telling boys they are wrong." or something like that. She said this, Dear Rose did, as she sat on my brother's lap. I really looked up to her. Thought she was beautiful and fit with my brother. But regardless of my respect for her, I turned to her and said "If I tell a boy when he is wrong and that makes him not like me then I don't want him anyway." Or maybe I just said "So?" But you get the point.
I lost that attitude somewhere after that conversation. A fear, I think, of never having a guy. Now, I have it back. If a man can't stand up and be a man . . . if he wants to take the benefits of my cooking, my laundry, my bed, and in return tell me which Jiffy Lube he uses when my car needs an oil change, I don't need him. YES I would like to be held and cuddled and make love with a guy, but I want respect and love more.
So, maybe I will date. Maybe I won't. But I won't have another hateful or disrespectful man in my life. And, ladies, I have to tell you, there are a LOT of men/women/people (not to assume anything about your sexuality) who do not know how to be a good friend, lover, partner.
I am sick of waiting, but wait I will.
Cars and the Economy
Things truly suck at this point. Not just for me, but for many. Car dealerships are being invited to no longer franchise with the companies they grew with for many years. So many will lose their jobs. It is a terrible and frightful situation. At the very least, it will prolong our economic recovery. At the very worst? Hey, I am not a doomsayer, but a dear friend is very concerned that the weaker the United States becomes, the easier it would be for another government to take us over. THAT would be the ultimate in sucki-ness in my opinion.
Hm. Car dealerships. Many years ago, I purchased a brand new car. The thing had something like 37 miles on it when I took delivery. It smelled wonderful! The paint job was a metallic black (not the proper name, but its been too long to recall the paint name) and changed color depending on the light. Ah she was beautiful!!! I wanted a smaller car with good gas mileage (I'd been driving a beat up old Ford mini-van that got 10 mpg.) I went to Saturn and purchased the car with little down and for 0% interest. (yeah, I had excellent credit back then.)
When I started law school, the old girl was still under warranty (don't ask me what parts were still under warranty, I just don't know, and now it doesn't matter.) And, now she is in her eighth year. Things go bad on older cars. It's a fact of life.
SO, the other day, it was hot in my area. Really really hot. I was preparing a pleading for a client and needed my Blue Book. It was not on the bookshelf or any of the random places I work and prepare for teaching. I thought it might be in the trunk. When I went to look, it was not there, so I looked in the passenger compartment. The book wasn't there either. The car interior was steaming hot though, and I rolled down ALL the windows.
I finished doing whatever I was doing, and headed out to teach. The temperature had climbed even more. I flipped on the AC. As soon as the air turned cool, I reached over and rolled up the back windows (the switch is on the console.) Soon the air was colder, and I reached over to roll up the front windows. Nothing happened. Thinking I had grabbed the back window controls again, my right hand searched for the front window buttons. Nada. I looked. NONE of the windows rolled up. All of them were stuck in the down position.
This happened once before, when the car was still under warranty. It was the window switch in the console. The next morning, I dropped my son at school and headed straight for the dealership near my house to purchase a new switch.
MUCH to my surprise, the dealership is gone. Gone. After a little investigation, I found that the dealer had 'resigned' his dealership a month ago. This particular dealership was the ONLY one in town. No, that isn't completely accurate, there were 3 locations, but all were owned by this one company. All three local dealerships are gone. The car that I have had for more than seven years no longer has an 'originating family' nearby.
I feel betrayed.
Are my windows working now? Long story short, the switch isn't the problem. I spent a solid week working on this issue, changing fuses, every male I know who works on cars has helped in one way or another with this. There were lots of chilly rides in the car (because being in the mid-west means your weather changes a lot and very quickly.) And, there were many days of the car sitting in the drive, under a tarp to keep the rain out. Luckily there was really only one day I needed my daughter to come and drive me places.
The windows are now UP, but non-functional. There is a wiring issue somewhere between the underhood fuse and the switch itself.
This spiral down needs to stop. We need to be able to level out and start the climb back. Please, please! let this stuff with the car companies be the last downward movement.
Hm. Car dealerships. Many years ago, I purchased a brand new car. The thing had something like 37 miles on it when I took delivery. It smelled wonderful! The paint job was a metallic black (not the proper name, but its been too long to recall the paint name) and changed color depending on the light. Ah she was beautiful!!! I wanted a smaller car with good gas mileage (I'd been driving a beat up old Ford mini-van that got 10 mpg.) I went to Saturn and purchased the car with little down and for 0% interest. (yeah, I had excellent credit back then.)
When I started law school, the old girl was still under warranty (don't ask me what parts were still under warranty, I just don't know, and now it doesn't matter.) And, now she is in her eighth year. Things go bad on older cars. It's a fact of life.
SO, the other day, it was hot in my area. Really really hot. I was preparing a pleading for a client and needed my Blue Book. It was not on the bookshelf or any of the random places I work and prepare for teaching. I thought it might be in the trunk. When I went to look, it was not there, so I looked in the passenger compartment. The book wasn't there either. The car interior was steaming hot though, and I rolled down ALL the windows.
I finished doing whatever I was doing, and headed out to teach. The temperature had climbed even more. I flipped on the AC. As soon as the air turned cool, I reached over and rolled up the back windows (the switch is on the console.) Soon the air was colder, and I reached over to roll up the front windows. Nothing happened. Thinking I had grabbed the back window controls again, my right hand searched for the front window buttons. Nada. I looked. NONE of the windows rolled up. All of them were stuck in the down position.
This happened once before, when the car was still under warranty. It was the window switch in the console. The next morning, I dropped my son at school and headed straight for the dealership near my house to purchase a new switch.
MUCH to my surprise, the dealership is gone. Gone. After a little investigation, I found that the dealer had 'resigned' his dealership a month ago. This particular dealership was the ONLY one in town. No, that isn't completely accurate, there were 3 locations, but all were owned by this one company. All three local dealerships are gone. The car that I have had for more than seven years no longer has an 'originating family' nearby.
I feel betrayed.
Are my windows working now? Long story short, the switch isn't the problem. I spent a solid week working on this issue, changing fuses, every male I know who works on cars has helped in one way or another with this. There were lots of chilly rides in the car (because being in the mid-west means your weather changes a lot and very quickly.) And, there were many days of the car sitting in the drive, under a tarp to keep the rain out. Luckily there was really only one day I needed my daughter to come and drive me places.
The windows are now UP, but non-functional. There is a wiring issue somewhere between the underhood fuse and the switch itself.
This spiral down needs to stop. We need to be able to level out and start the climb back. Please, please! let this stuff with the car companies be the last downward movement.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The good, the bad, the unnecessary . . .
I am trying to embrace the time off, the rules of the unemployment office, and the impending bankruptcy (the attorney I called and I keep playing phone tag.) It is hard, in my opinion, to embrace things we do not want in our lives. It is so much easier to slip off the edge into depression. But it's not as easy to slip from depression into something deeper, something requiring good meds and a soft room.
There is a bouncy bottom to depression. Most people, I think, hit that bouncy bottom, and don't slip further down that slope. The bouncy bottom is named Hope. Sometimes Hope sucks a big green donkey dong. Seriously. How many times can you bounce before you are sick of the ride? Sick of the ride and begin to desire the muck of falling deeper into some mental disability?
Something, who knows what, has kept me from sliding off that rubbery bottom and completely into the muck. I have very good friends. And my family is around a bit . . . more than they've been in a while. And, despite this feeling of death, of some part of me dying, I am not dead. I must go on. The part of me that died had apparently outlived its usefulness.
I have things to do, decisions to make. I have time, finally, to get rid of the rest of the crap my ex-husband left in this house. No money to do it with, but I'll figure something out I guess. I've gotten rid of a LOT of it. He had a 2 car garage packed full, plus stuff (computer parts, broken furniture) around the house. After he moved, the garage was still mostly full, just not to the ceiling anymore. We, the kids and I, threw away a lot of it or gave it away, but there are still things down there that need to be tossed or given away. And then there are the things he left to be spiteful, the things he kept for no good reason; the old twin beds, the mostly used cans of paint, used tires. The computer parts are mostly gone. I thought completely gone, but there is still a very old monitor and some other stuff downstairs.
You know, that is a good analogy for this guy. He kept everything, the good, the bad, the unnecessary. Then, instead of sorting through and keeping the good and useful, he would just grab what he needed at the moment and move on. He certainly treated the marriage that way. When he did not understand something, instead of discussing it with me, he would make decisions on his own, and then expect everyone else to know what they were, agree to them, and follow them. He 'grabbed what he needed' and left the rest behind. Including me.
It's a huge "whatever" except that I am still having to walk around the crap he left in the garage. Most days I haven't wanted to look at it. I still don't want to, but it needs to leave and he sure isn't coming back to get it.
There is a bouncy bottom to depression. Most people, I think, hit that bouncy bottom, and don't slip further down that slope. The bouncy bottom is named Hope. Sometimes Hope sucks a big green donkey dong. Seriously. How many times can you bounce before you are sick of the ride? Sick of the ride and begin to desire the muck of falling deeper into some mental disability?
Something, who knows what, has kept me from sliding off that rubbery bottom and completely into the muck. I have very good friends. And my family is around a bit . . . more than they've been in a while. And, despite this feeling of death, of some part of me dying, I am not dead. I must go on. The part of me that died had apparently outlived its usefulness.
I have things to do, decisions to make. I have time, finally, to get rid of the rest of the crap my ex-husband left in this house. No money to do it with, but I'll figure something out I guess. I've gotten rid of a LOT of it. He had a 2 car garage packed full, plus stuff (computer parts, broken furniture) around the house. After he moved, the garage was still mostly full, just not to the ceiling anymore. We, the kids and I, threw away a lot of it or gave it away, but there are still things down there that need to be tossed or given away. And then there are the things he left to be spiteful, the things he kept for no good reason; the old twin beds, the mostly used cans of paint, used tires. The computer parts are mostly gone. I thought completely gone, but there is still a very old monitor and some other stuff downstairs.
You know, that is a good analogy for this guy. He kept everything, the good, the bad, the unnecessary. Then, instead of sorting through and keeping the good and useful, he would just grab what he needed at the moment and move on. He certainly treated the marriage that way. When he did not understand something, instead of discussing it with me, he would make decisions on his own, and then expect everyone else to know what they were, agree to them, and follow them. He 'grabbed what he needed' and left the rest behind. Including me.
It's a huge "whatever" except that I am still having to walk around the crap he left in the garage. Most days I haven't wanted to look at it. I still don't want to, but it needs to leave and he sure isn't coming back to get it.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Standstill
At a standstill.
I feel like I am, though I know that I am not. There are things I am doing. But the fed job ended on Friday and amazing amounts of anxiety took its place.
Yesterday I applied for jobs, some of which are the exact things I do not want to do as an attorney. I do not have a choice. I've applied for similar positions (meaning other positions which are not what I want) but for some reason one of them really got to me. I cried. Not that crying is something odd around here these days.
I also attempted on about 20 ocassions to access the Unemployment website. It was down most of yesterday, and by the time I got in it was so late I was too tired to deal with all the information.
There are other jobs to apply for. Some of which require information from the fed agency I worked at (and may be recalled to, who knows?) I am trying to get that form, but it is being difficult to obtain.
And there is a bankruptcy claim to file. I could do it myself, and may, but I do not know the ins and outs of the bankruptcy system. A friend who does has given me some names of attorneys who could assist. It is difficult to think of paying someone to do something when the cash in the bank is all I can count on for now, and for an unknown time into the future.
Needing to sell the house is a very real possibility. If I were to be offered one of the jobs I've applied for - and take it - it would mean moving anyway. Moving worries me. I suspect my son's father would attempt to take residential custody of our boy. And so far as my girls go . . . well one of them frequently stops talking to me anyway, but the other has become a friend. I will miss them both as I do not believe they will often visit if I have to move.
I have said, because it is true, that everytime I have gone to school, I've lost someone. Attending law school has cost me a great deal. So much more than I was willing to 'spend'. You cannot know the full price of something until the deal is done. This was too much. Too much and I cannot rewind time. There is no do-over.
I feel like I am, though I know that I am not. There are things I am doing. But the fed job ended on Friday and amazing amounts of anxiety took its place.
Yesterday I applied for jobs, some of which are the exact things I do not want to do as an attorney. I do not have a choice. I've applied for similar positions (meaning other positions which are not what I want) but for some reason one of them really got to me. I cried. Not that crying is something odd around here these days.
I also attempted on about 20 ocassions to access the Unemployment website. It was down most of yesterday, and by the time I got in it was so late I was too tired to deal with all the information.
There are other jobs to apply for. Some of which require information from the fed agency I worked at (and may be recalled to, who knows?) I am trying to get that form, but it is being difficult to obtain.
And there is a bankruptcy claim to file. I could do it myself, and may, but I do not know the ins and outs of the bankruptcy system. A friend who does has given me some names of attorneys who could assist. It is difficult to think of paying someone to do something when the cash in the bank is all I can count on for now, and for an unknown time into the future.
Needing to sell the house is a very real possibility. If I were to be offered one of the jobs I've applied for - and take it - it would mean moving anyway. Moving worries me. I suspect my son's father would attempt to take residential custody of our boy. And so far as my girls go . . . well one of them frequently stops talking to me anyway, but the other has become a friend. I will miss them both as I do not believe they will often visit if I have to move.
I have said, because it is true, that everytime I have gone to school, I've lost someone. Attending law school has cost me a great deal. So much more than I was willing to 'spend'. You cannot know the full price of something until the deal is done. This was too much. Too much and I cannot rewind time. There is no do-over.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Frustrating day
Today has been a day of reflection for me. I am tired of reflection. No, not really. I am tired of the feelings that bring on reflection, tired of the blues it brings on. That is a bit backward. One of my brothers (the one I sent the Reading Vacation to) responded. There is still so much pain, so much anger in all eight of us (yes, Tara is based on me) that it remains hard to be connected to one another.
Sometimes I wish I could forget all this. I yearn for a day when I am not the survivor of so much childhood abuse. When I can just BE who I am and not have it be affected by those past experiences. But it cannot be. Not in this life. Perhaps in some quantum life our father did not continue the cycle of abuse onto us eight. Perhaps in some other life he actually appreciated who he had in his life, cared for our mother, and took care of us all.
Today, I want just to leave. It's my self-protection, leaving, flight. I don't stand and fight as much as I should probably. If I could leave this stressful time, I would.
Sometimes I wish I could forget all this. I yearn for a day when I am not the survivor of so much childhood abuse. When I can just BE who I am and not have it be affected by those past experiences. But it cannot be. Not in this life. Perhaps in some quantum life our father did not continue the cycle of abuse onto us eight. Perhaps in some other life he actually appreciated who he had in his life, cared for our mother, and took care of us all.
Today, I want just to leave. It's my self-protection, leaving, flight. I don't stand and fight as much as I should probably. If I could leave this stressful time, I would.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Dealing
Some things that occur in your life are things you must deal with. Sometimes even when you deal with them, they continue to hurt.
What might Tara's mothers life have been if she had been taken to the hospital when it was first so clear that "something" was wrong? As it was (yes, it is a true story) her mother remained in a coma for a month. When she was being moved from bed to gurney (or back) for a test, the orderlies dropped her. Soon after she fell to the floor, within hours, she woke from the coma. She was dropped again later, and regained her ability to speak after that fall. It would be months more before she was able to walk.
Her children took up the physical and speech therapies after the insurance ran out. Their grandmother, the one their father hated, would stay with their mother throughout the day during the school year, Tara would take on that role during most weekends and many summers. Their father returned to his surly hateful self, often beating the kids with his belt if he came home from work and found out that his wife had had a seizure that day (or for some other indiscretion he decided was a major problem - based on what criteria the kids never knew.)
Their father's childhood was less than stellar. The way he acted was triggered by his own childhood. That is not an excuse for his behavior, it is a simple fact. That however is a writing for another day.
What might Tara's mothers life have been if she had been taken to the hospital when it was first so clear that "something" was wrong? As it was (yes, it is a true story) her mother remained in a coma for a month. When she was being moved from bed to gurney (or back) for a test, the orderlies dropped her. Soon after she fell to the floor, within hours, she woke from the coma. She was dropped again later, and regained her ability to speak after that fall. It would be months more before she was able to walk.
Her children took up the physical and speech therapies after the insurance ran out. Their grandmother, the one their father hated, would stay with their mother throughout the day during the school year, Tara would take on that role during most weekends and many summers. Their father returned to his surly hateful self, often beating the kids with his belt if he came home from work and found out that his wife had had a seizure that day (or for some other indiscretion he decided was a major problem - based on what criteria the kids never knew.)
Their father's childhood was less than stellar. The way he acted was triggered by his own childhood. That is not an excuse for his behavior, it is a simple fact. That however is a writing for another day.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
The Reading Vacation
The camper rocked, back and forth, as it sped north on Interstate I-35. Plagued by car sickness, Tara usually slept on long trips. In a few years, she would find out that car sickness leaves when she is behind the wheel, but the sleepiness on long trips would stay with her always.
Sleep wasn’t coming this time though. Tara watched as the yellow and white painted stripes and dashes of the road curved and disappeared at the lower edge of the bubble shaped window. She and her brothers were all laying on the ‘master’ bed of the camper, the one that was directly over the cab of the truck hauling them, their temporary abode, and the comatose woman behind them.
"She isn’t gonna die, is she Dale?" Robby asked, and then burst into tears.
"I don’t know." Was Dale’s honest answer, uncharacteristically lacking sarcasm or a joke. He threw an arm over Robby and let him cry. Tara and Huey did the same.
Any sleepiness any of the four had been feeling was instantly banished.
~~~~~~~~~
Two days earlier they had packed up the camper and headed for Texas. Their group left the evening of the 12th and drove at night. Dad liked driving at night, there weren’t as many cars. Mom, Dad, Joe and Melanie had taken a day off work and the kids a day off school to go to Texas to visit with one of the older brothers and his family. It was cold in Kansas City, and everyone kept saying it would be warm there, so everyone should pack shorts. Her shorts didn’t fit anymore, really they were too tight, but she packed them anyway. If it really was hot, she’d squeeze into them.
Tara was hoping that she and her Mom would have a chance to repeat, a little, the time they had spent together in the camper on a hunting trip. The boys all hunted, except for Huey, but he went with the others, dressed in a too big orange vest, once or twice. Tara and Mom would clean up the breakfast dishes (well throw away the paper plates and wash the frying pan), return the ‘table/bed’ from ‘bed’ to ‘table’ and pull out their novels. Tara was afraid to go outside, there were hunters all over the forest, you could hear rifles and shot guns so long as the sun was up. Mom didn’t seem the least interested in stepping out the door. She would crank open a window now and then to let out some of the smoke from her Pall Mall Gold’s, but that seemed to be all the nature she needed. The novels were dime store romances. Not great literature, but Tara would read practically anything. Mom got most of her books as hand me downs from Tara’s grandmother, and the girl grabbed on to them after Mom was finished, so Harlequin Romances were their literary staples. She carefully packed two novels, mentally keeping her fingers crossed she and Mom could spend time reading together.
When her brother Joe and his wife Melanie arrived with their three girls, Melanie wasn’t feeling well. She worked at the same big IRS facility Mom worked. A flu bug was going around there. Melanie had been sick for three or four days, and was finally recovering.
Because Melanie wasn’t feeling well, and the three younger girls would fare better on the long trip if they had room to lie down, which they would not in Joe and Melanie’s car, it was decided they would ride in the camper with the girl and Mom, and Tara’s brothers would ride with Joe. Tara didn’t care if Melanie and the girls shared the camper, but she knew that her hopes for time with her mother would not come true. Mom and Melanie would talk. They worked together now, not in the same department, but still together. Tara thought she would be pushed aside for adult conversation. But that wasn’t what happened. It was late when they left and Melanie took her girls up to the master bed and they all went to sleep. She still didn’t get special time with her mom though. Mom was feeling ill, sick to her stomach like Melanie had been, and went to bed early too. The girl laid next to her mother on the table/bed, reading for a while, but nothing was the same.
She pondered being pushed aside. Mom had eight kids to deal with and Dad. All of her siblings were boys. Every last one of them. Boys are loud. Boys do things that require their parents attention. Maybe not all boys, but her brothers sure did. Except maybe Huey, the baby. Not a baby anymore, but only nine years old. Mom was busy all the time! She worked, she cleaned, she parented the boys. Tara tried hard to be quiet and good so Mom didn’t have to spend too much time parenting her too. It was hard to be quiet though when Dale pulled her hair. Or one of the boys took something of hers. Mom had a lot of people who wanted or needed her time.
Lately though, Mom had been giving Tara more of her time. Just last month she had taken Tara on a shopping spree. Mom bought herself four or five brand new pants suits to wear to work. Mom bought Tara some new clothes too. Tara had never gotten clothes except at the beginning of a school year or for Christmas. She felt so cool walking into school that next day wearing the green gauze blouse Mom had bought for her! She was the only girl in class wearing something new that day.
The camper rocked to and fro, speeding toward Garland Texas. She could hear the radio from the cab of the truck now and then, the CB Radio more often from that location. She could hear the sounds of sleep from the other females in the camper. It took quite a while before she slept.
The trip was long and boring. At some point Dad stopped and slept. They arrived at Lou and Diane’s house in Garland Texas early afternoon the next day.
Diane’s family room was pretty big, but was soon filled with her own brood plus eleven. Crowded there, the women spilled into the kitchen. The younger kids made a bee line for the swing set. Everyone was hungry. Dinner was fixed. Mom was back in action, the flu apparently retreating already. Soon, they were all fed. Dad, uncharacteristically gregarious, handed Pat and Bobby several bills and told them to take Huey, walk across the street to the Dairy Queen and get everyone a chocolate shake. The server at the Dairy Queen had never gotten an order for 15 chocolate shakes before. The boys came back and told the tale.
Tara and her brothers were all bedded down in the Family room. Joe and Melanie were given the guest room, their girls bunked in with Diane and Lou’s daughter. Huey bunked in with Lou and Diane’s son.
Mom woke in the middle of the night with a headache. She walked from the camper where she and Dad were sleeping, into the house looking for the bathroom and some aspirin. She tripped over Robby, and fell onto Dale, waking both of them. The flu was apparently back. Mom was ill.
In the morning when Mom didn’t come into the house for breakfast, no one worried too much. Dad told them Mom was ill. Dad was happy again, telling stories, being so unlike himself.
In the afternoon when she didn’t come in for lunch, hadn’t left the camper, when the temperature was climbing and Tara really was wearing shorts outside in the middle of February, everyone became worried. The camper was stifling inside when it was hot outside. Dehydration was considered. Diane told Dad to bring her inside, put her in her and Lou’s bed. Everyone agreed that having the flu and being in the camper were not good ideas. Dad just went out and opened the windows, left the door of the camper open for ventilation. He said he tried to get her to come in but she wouldn’t wake up.
A few hours later, Lou and Joe conferred with one another. Something was wrong with Mom. Dad didn’t want anyone to bother her, but it wasn’t okay that she’d stayed in that camper all day, all through the heat of the day, and never once came in for water or to use the bathroom.
They went to Dad and talked with him. Finally all agreed "something" was wrong and Mom needed to go to the doctor. Dad would not take her to the hospital in Garland or in Dallas. He insisted on driving back to Kansas City and putting her in the hospital there. They’d packed quickly, leaving much behind. Soon they were all piled into the camper, no mixing of families this time. Joe and Melanie in their car, Dad driving the truck. Tara, Robby, Dale and Huey all in the camper with their comatose mother.
They stopped for gas along the way. The first time Dad tried to wake Mom again. She would not stir. He pulled her up by one arm and smacked her hard across the face, reaching his hand back as far as he could before racing it toward her left cheek. He could not stir her at all now. He let her flop back onto the table/bed, pumped the gas and raced off toward Kansas City again, never considering, never even thinking that what was happening might have been curtailed by medicine. Never thinking that what was happening would scar his children and grandchildren forever after.
Hours later, when they arrived in Kansas City, Mom could not be roused. Dad had one of the boys hold Mom up and throw her arms over his shoulders. He grabbed her arms and dragged her into the house. He flopped her onto the couch, and stood there, breathing hard, eyes wild with confusion and fear.
Dad went to the phone and called Grandma and told her what was happening. Tara knew then how scared Dad was. He hated that Grandma, her mother’s mother. "Alright. Alright. Yes, the hospital" was all Tara heard him say before he hung up the phone. Dad turned to his older children and said that Grandma thought it was a stroke and that he should get Mom to the hospital right away. He called the doctor first though, and got the same response from the doctor. Soon, he was dragging Mom back outside, this time to the car, pushing and pulling her into the back seat. He couldn’t call an ambulance. It would be too expensive. Besides, it was too late for quick action now.
Tara wouldn’t remember the next days of her life very well. It seemed that she stayed in her bedroom unless and until someone came to the house to talk about Mom and how she was; they weren’t sure she would live; she was in a coma; Robby wasn’t old enough to go see her, but he was tall enough to pass for fifteen, so he got to go; it was time for them to bring Tara and Huey to the hospital to say goodbye.
Dad told Tara to wear a dress to the hospital to visit her mother, that it was proper and pants weren’t. When they arrived, she and Huey held hands as they walked toward the room. The hallway was like one of those hallways you see in a dream. Long, and the more you walked, the longer it got. Somehow, even with the ever lengthening hallway, they still made it to the room.
Dad grabbed the handle, turned it and opened the door. Tara felt like she was only three feet tall. The bed Mom was in seemed to be five feet tall. Mom was too high up to reach. She and Huey stood there and looked at the lumps under the blankets that everyone said was their mother. Tubes and wires ran to and from the bed. Tara couldn’t see anything but white walls, sterility, blankets, wires and tubes. If Mom was in there somewhere Tara couldn’t see her. Dad asked if they wanted to go say hello. She and Huey moved closer. There was no place on her mother she could see except part of her face. No where to touch, the lumps under the blanket could be anything. In between Tara and her mother’s face were wires and tubes. Too scary to reach around or through . . . if she accidentally knocked one away, would her mother die? Was she dying anyway? Tears slipped down her face. She was afraid to move. When Dad saw that neither she nor Huey were going to hug their mother, he turned around, ready to leave. Did he not see they were too afraid to touch her, too afraid to move? "Tell your mother you love her and goodbye." Dad said. She choked out "bye mom I love you" or something close to it, because the tears stopped slipping out, and just flooded. Huey burst into tears. Dad guided them from the room, neither of them could see to walk.
It would be years before Tara again wondered why Dad didn’t take Mom to the hospital in Texas. Either Garland or Dallas, which wasn’t too far away. She would remember her brothers trying to get Dad to take Mom there. Tara would never understand how it was that all of them knew Mom was too ill to move except Dad. Mom had become independent before she had the stroke. Did Dad think that by being ill, she was getting her just desserts for wanting more than he wanted her to have? Whatever the reason, Dad did not do right by Mom. She lived, partially paralyzed on her right side. She and Tara would never repeat their reading vacation.
Sleep wasn’t coming this time though. Tara watched as the yellow and white painted stripes and dashes of the road curved and disappeared at the lower edge of the bubble shaped window. She and her brothers were all laying on the ‘master’ bed of the camper, the one that was directly over the cab of the truck hauling them, their temporary abode, and the comatose woman behind them.
"She isn’t gonna die, is she Dale?" Robby asked, and then burst into tears.
"I don’t know." Was Dale’s honest answer, uncharacteristically lacking sarcasm or a joke. He threw an arm over Robby and let him cry. Tara and Huey did the same.
Any sleepiness any of the four had been feeling was instantly banished.
~~~~~~~~~
Two days earlier they had packed up the camper and headed for Texas. Their group left the evening of the 12th and drove at night. Dad liked driving at night, there weren’t as many cars. Mom, Dad, Joe and Melanie had taken a day off work and the kids a day off school to go to Texas to visit with one of the older brothers and his family. It was cold in Kansas City, and everyone kept saying it would be warm there, so everyone should pack shorts. Her shorts didn’t fit anymore, really they were too tight, but she packed them anyway. If it really was hot, she’d squeeze into them.
Tara was hoping that she and her Mom would have a chance to repeat, a little, the time they had spent together in the camper on a hunting trip. The boys all hunted, except for Huey, but he went with the others, dressed in a too big orange vest, once or twice. Tara and Mom would clean up the breakfast dishes (well throw away the paper plates and wash the frying pan), return the ‘table/bed’ from ‘bed’ to ‘table’ and pull out their novels. Tara was afraid to go outside, there were hunters all over the forest, you could hear rifles and shot guns so long as the sun was up. Mom didn’t seem the least interested in stepping out the door. She would crank open a window now and then to let out some of the smoke from her Pall Mall Gold’s, but that seemed to be all the nature she needed. The novels were dime store romances. Not great literature, but Tara would read practically anything. Mom got most of her books as hand me downs from Tara’s grandmother, and the girl grabbed on to them after Mom was finished, so Harlequin Romances were their literary staples. She carefully packed two novels, mentally keeping her fingers crossed she and Mom could spend time reading together.
When her brother Joe and his wife Melanie arrived with their three girls, Melanie wasn’t feeling well. She worked at the same big IRS facility Mom worked. A flu bug was going around there. Melanie had been sick for three or four days, and was finally recovering.
Because Melanie wasn’t feeling well, and the three younger girls would fare better on the long trip if they had room to lie down, which they would not in Joe and Melanie’s car, it was decided they would ride in the camper with the girl and Mom, and Tara’s brothers would ride with Joe. Tara didn’t care if Melanie and the girls shared the camper, but she knew that her hopes for time with her mother would not come true. Mom and Melanie would talk. They worked together now, not in the same department, but still together. Tara thought she would be pushed aside for adult conversation. But that wasn’t what happened. It was late when they left and Melanie took her girls up to the master bed and they all went to sleep. She still didn’t get special time with her mom though. Mom was feeling ill, sick to her stomach like Melanie had been, and went to bed early too. The girl laid next to her mother on the table/bed, reading for a while, but nothing was the same.
She pondered being pushed aside. Mom had eight kids to deal with and Dad. All of her siblings were boys. Every last one of them. Boys are loud. Boys do things that require their parents attention. Maybe not all boys, but her brothers sure did. Except maybe Huey, the baby. Not a baby anymore, but only nine years old. Mom was busy all the time! She worked, she cleaned, she parented the boys. Tara tried hard to be quiet and good so Mom didn’t have to spend too much time parenting her too. It was hard to be quiet though when Dale pulled her hair. Or one of the boys took something of hers. Mom had a lot of people who wanted or needed her time.
Lately though, Mom had been giving Tara more of her time. Just last month she had taken Tara on a shopping spree. Mom bought herself four or five brand new pants suits to wear to work. Mom bought Tara some new clothes too. Tara had never gotten clothes except at the beginning of a school year or for Christmas. She felt so cool walking into school that next day wearing the green gauze blouse Mom had bought for her! She was the only girl in class wearing something new that day.
The camper rocked to and fro, speeding toward Garland Texas. She could hear the radio from the cab of the truck now and then, the CB Radio more often from that location. She could hear the sounds of sleep from the other females in the camper. It took quite a while before she slept.
The trip was long and boring. At some point Dad stopped and slept. They arrived at Lou and Diane’s house in Garland Texas early afternoon the next day.
Diane’s family room was pretty big, but was soon filled with her own brood plus eleven. Crowded there, the women spilled into the kitchen. The younger kids made a bee line for the swing set. Everyone was hungry. Dinner was fixed. Mom was back in action, the flu apparently retreating already. Soon, they were all fed. Dad, uncharacteristically gregarious, handed Pat and Bobby several bills and told them to take Huey, walk across the street to the Dairy Queen and get everyone a chocolate shake. The server at the Dairy Queen had never gotten an order for 15 chocolate shakes before. The boys came back and told the tale.
Tara and her brothers were all bedded down in the Family room. Joe and Melanie were given the guest room, their girls bunked in with Diane and Lou’s daughter. Huey bunked in with Lou and Diane’s son.
Mom woke in the middle of the night with a headache. She walked from the camper where she and Dad were sleeping, into the house looking for the bathroom and some aspirin. She tripped over Robby, and fell onto Dale, waking both of them. The flu was apparently back. Mom was ill.
In the morning when Mom didn’t come into the house for breakfast, no one worried too much. Dad told them Mom was ill. Dad was happy again, telling stories, being so unlike himself.
In the afternoon when she didn’t come in for lunch, hadn’t left the camper, when the temperature was climbing and Tara really was wearing shorts outside in the middle of February, everyone became worried. The camper was stifling inside when it was hot outside. Dehydration was considered. Diane told Dad to bring her inside, put her in her and Lou’s bed. Everyone agreed that having the flu and being in the camper were not good ideas. Dad just went out and opened the windows, left the door of the camper open for ventilation. He said he tried to get her to come in but she wouldn’t wake up.
A few hours later, Lou and Joe conferred with one another. Something was wrong with Mom. Dad didn’t want anyone to bother her, but it wasn’t okay that she’d stayed in that camper all day, all through the heat of the day, and never once came in for water or to use the bathroom.
They went to Dad and talked with him. Finally all agreed "something" was wrong and Mom needed to go to the doctor. Dad would not take her to the hospital in Garland or in Dallas. He insisted on driving back to Kansas City and putting her in the hospital there. They’d packed quickly, leaving much behind. Soon they were all piled into the camper, no mixing of families this time. Joe and Melanie in their car, Dad driving the truck. Tara, Robby, Dale and Huey all in the camper with their comatose mother.
They stopped for gas along the way. The first time Dad tried to wake Mom again. She would not stir. He pulled her up by one arm and smacked her hard across the face, reaching his hand back as far as he could before racing it toward her left cheek. He could not stir her at all now. He let her flop back onto the table/bed, pumped the gas and raced off toward Kansas City again, never considering, never even thinking that what was happening might have been curtailed by medicine. Never thinking that what was happening would scar his children and grandchildren forever after.
Hours later, when they arrived in Kansas City, Mom could not be roused. Dad had one of the boys hold Mom up and throw her arms over his shoulders. He grabbed her arms and dragged her into the house. He flopped her onto the couch, and stood there, breathing hard, eyes wild with confusion and fear.
Dad went to the phone and called Grandma and told her what was happening. Tara knew then how scared Dad was. He hated that Grandma, her mother’s mother. "Alright. Alright. Yes, the hospital" was all Tara heard him say before he hung up the phone. Dad turned to his older children and said that Grandma thought it was a stroke and that he should get Mom to the hospital right away. He called the doctor first though, and got the same response from the doctor. Soon, he was dragging Mom back outside, this time to the car, pushing and pulling her into the back seat. He couldn’t call an ambulance. It would be too expensive. Besides, it was too late for quick action now.
Tara wouldn’t remember the next days of her life very well. It seemed that she stayed in her bedroom unless and until someone came to the house to talk about Mom and how she was; they weren’t sure she would live; she was in a coma; Robby wasn’t old enough to go see her, but he was tall enough to pass for fifteen, so he got to go; it was time for them to bring Tara and Huey to the hospital to say goodbye.
Dad told Tara to wear a dress to the hospital to visit her mother, that it was proper and pants weren’t. When they arrived, she and Huey held hands as they walked toward the room. The hallway was like one of those hallways you see in a dream. Long, and the more you walked, the longer it got. Somehow, even with the ever lengthening hallway, they still made it to the room.
Dad grabbed the handle, turned it and opened the door. Tara felt like she was only three feet tall. The bed Mom was in seemed to be five feet tall. Mom was too high up to reach. She and Huey stood there and looked at the lumps under the blankets that everyone said was their mother. Tubes and wires ran to and from the bed. Tara couldn’t see anything but white walls, sterility, blankets, wires and tubes. If Mom was in there somewhere Tara couldn’t see her. Dad asked if they wanted to go say hello. She and Huey moved closer. There was no place on her mother she could see except part of her face. No where to touch, the lumps under the blanket could be anything. In between Tara and her mother’s face were wires and tubes. Too scary to reach around or through . . . if she accidentally knocked one away, would her mother die? Was she dying anyway? Tears slipped down her face. She was afraid to move. When Dad saw that neither she nor Huey were going to hug their mother, he turned around, ready to leave. Did he not see they were too afraid to touch her, too afraid to move? "Tell your mother you love her and goodbye." Dad said. She choked out "bye mom I love you" or something close to it, because the tears stopped slipping out, and just flooded. Huey burst into tears. Dad guided them from the room, neither of them could see to walk.
It would be years before Tara again wondered why Dad didn’t take Mom to the hospital in Texas. Either Garland or Dallas, which wasn’t too far away. She would remember her brothers trying to get Dad to take Mom there. Tara would never understand how it was that all of them knew Mom was too ill to move except Dad. Mom had become independent before she had the stroke. Did Dad think that by being ill, she was getting her just desserts for wanting more than he wanted her to have? Whatever the reason, Dad did not do right by Mom. She lived, partially paralyzed on her right side. She and Tara would never repeat their reading vacation.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Three jobs, still broke
I am exhausted. The full time fed job; the part time teaching job, and my handful of clients.
If any higher power is listening . . . PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send help soon. I fear I will die tired, often hungry, in pain and alone.
This was not a great day for finishing meals. An eggo for breakfast, 1/3 of a burrito for lunch, a (tiny) bag of pretzels for 'dinner'. I ate more burrito, but am too tired to finish it.
*sigh*
If any higher power is listening . . . PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send help soon. I fear I will die tired, often hungry, in pain and alone.
This was not a great day for finishing meals. An eggo for breakfast, 1/3 of a burrito for lunch, a (tiny) bag of pretzels for 'dinner'. I ate more burrito, but am too tired to finish it.
*sigh*
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Quantum Lives???
There is not a lot going on in my life at this moment that occupies my brain enough (apparently) because I have been, once again, pondering quantum physics - quantum lives if you will.
I was considering the 'stalker' of that 16 (17?) year old gymnast who is on Dancing with the Stars. He (reportedly) believes she talks to him with her mind, that they will be married, and she will bear his child(ren). He has been called delusional - and in this life he is. But what if the thing we call 'mental illness' is really connection to other lives we are living at the same moments, on different planes? What if on some other plane she does talk to him, they are married and she is pregnant?
It rather puts a whole different spin on dreams too. Perhaps they aren't just the musings of a sleepy mind. Perhaps they are glimpses of other lives. Perhaps it explains why it is one day we cannot do something, and the next we can. Why it is that I 'figured out' how to cook things I have never (in this life) seen cooked, not even on Food Network, and while my versions won't rival your best restaurants, I dare say they would beat the cheaper ones.
The Fed place I am temping at is hiring. It isn't attorney positions. I have applied for two positions - please PLEASE! keep good thoughts going for me for these. One of them. I don't know that I care which. Either will get my foot in the door.
Blessedly the process is easier now. The several long exhaustive essay questions they required on one application I did for some federal position last year took me FIVE HOURS to complete. I literally had to take a lunch break! Now there are 2 essays. And several questions to answer, but again, perhaps 1/5th of what was required on that other application I prepared. And I copied & pasted they essay answers so I could just pop them in the 2nd application. (yes, same questions.)
The attorney who works most closely with we temp attorneys offered to let me use her as a reference on these apps. I was going to ask, but she offered before could. :-) That made my day yesterday.
Perhaps, if I get one of these, I can get things straightened out here.
Let's keep good thoughts going for each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I was considering the 'stalker' of that 16 (17?) year old gymnast who is on Dancing with the Stars. He (reportedly) believes she talks to him with her mind, that they will be married, and she will bear his child(ren). He has been called delusional - and in this life he is. But what if the thing we call 'mental illness' is really connection to other lives we are living at the same moments, on different planes? What if on some other plane she does talk to him, they are married and she is pregnant?
It rather puts a whole different spin on dreams too. Perhaps they aren't just the musings of a sleepy mind. Perhaps they are glimpses of other lives. Perhaps it explains why it is one day we cannot do something, and the next we can. Why it is that I 'figured out' how to cook things I have never (in this life) seen cooked, not even on Food Network, and while my versions won't rival your best restaurants, I dare say they would beat the cheaper ones.
The Fed place I am temping at is hiring. It isn't attorney positions. I have applied for two positions - please PLEASE! keep good thoughts going for me for these. One of them. I don't know that I care which. Either will get my foot in the door.
Blessedly the process is easier now. The several long exhaustive essay questions they required on one application I did for some federal position last year took me FIVE HOURS to complete. I literally had to take a lunch break! Now there are 2 essays. And several questions to answer, but again, perhaps 1/5th of what was required on that other application I prepared. And I copied & pasted they essay answers so I could just pop them in the 2nd application. (yes, same questions.)
The attorney who works most closely with we temp attorneys offered to let me use her as a reference on these apps. I was going to ask, but she offered before could. :-) That made my day yesterday.
Perhaps, if I get one of these, I can get things straightened out here.
Let's keep good thoughts going for each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Nothing new to add today
I have no new complaint or observance. I am tired. I am working overtime for the Fed's and teaching 2 nights a week. If I could keep the fed job, and continue to teach, I could work something out with the creditors . . . catch up a bit with the tax refund. But, the tax refund will be put away so that I can keep the lights on and food in the cupboard after the temp job ends.
Did I mention I am tired? '
Have a lovely weekend, the first this Spring!
Did I mention I am tired? '
Have a lovely weekend, the first this Spring!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
In the best interest of creditors
I would like someone to explain to me how it is creditors, especially credit card companies, lay the blame for this economy, for the lack of jobs, for not having unlimited resources, at the feet of the ones they extended credit to?
As I have explained a thousand times, it seems, to various callers, THIS WAS NOT MY PLAN. I did not plan to spend 3 hard years in law school, living on loans and credit, to graduate just as the bottom fell out of this economy! I did not work that hard only to have my reputation ruined thanks to unemployment.
THIS WAS NOT MY PLAN.
I am one of the folks who, in this hurricane of an 'economic downturn', is sitting in a little rowboat in the ocean. The reward I worked so hard for is on the shore, slowly being washed away by the crashing waves. Others are in mighty sea worthy ships. Others secured permanent full-time jobs before the crash (as I thought I had.) My little rowboat has taken on water. One of my creditors this morning refused a payment from me. They felt they were being nice, letting me know that my offered payment was too little to make any difference in the monstrous wave they are sending my way.
THIS WAS NOT MY PLAN.
I will, in the next few weeks, file bankruptcy it seems. I am frankly heartbroken. This is the ultimate (in my mind) financial failure that I have been trying so hard to AVOID by continuing my education.
THIS WAS NOT MY PLAN.
It is not what I want to do. I would much prefer if this company would take my inadequate payment as a token, a gesture, a promise that I don't want to walk away from this bill. It would be like getting the $100 promise ring from your lover when you were hoping for a $20,000 diamond wedding set. I know that. But it would be SOMETHING.
How was I to know four years ago when I applied to law school that this was going to happen? Four years ago the country was wondering (again) how "W" made it to office, how much longer the war with Iraq would go on, and purchasing, or making payments on, car loans with 0% interest w.a.p. Things looked good. I was one of the ones who got a brand new car for 0% interest, my credit was that good. Now the car, the old girl, is seven years old and needs work.
Tell me how it is more acceptable to these creditors, to the ones who extended this credit to me and folks like me, to not accept even de minimis payments? We are all going to have to ride out this storm together. If they simply force people into bankruptcy, they will not see a return on most of what they have lent. Why not take the de minimis payments and let us ride out this storm with them?
A woman I spoke with this morning who threatened me by telling me that I should know that not paying my bill was only going to make it impossible for me to sit for the bar exam (she was not listening to me, only speaking her spiel and reading her computer screen), also told me that I was going to have to pay income tax on anything they write off.
Here we go. They get to claim the loss on their taxes. There IS an economic profit for them when they do not ride out the storm with us. Why is it okay for them to not ride out this storm with us? We did not create the storm (though some of them certainly played some part in this storm's creation.)
Fingers are pointed back and forth at this politician and that bank, or people who are over extended on credit, blame trying to find a home.
We ALL are part of this. We ALL should ride this out together. Credit card companies included.
As I have explained a thousand times, it seems, to various callers, THIS WAS NOT MY PLAN. I did not plan to spend 3 hard years in law school, living on loans and credit, to graduate just as the bottom fell out of this economy! I did not work that hard only to have my reputation ruined thanks to unemployment.
THIS WAS NOT MY PLAN.
I am one of the folks who, in this hurricane of an 'economic downturn', is sitting in a little rowboat in the ocean. The reward I worked so hard for is on the shore, slowly being washed away by the crashing waves. Others are in mighty sea worthy ships. Others secured permanent full-time jobs before the crash (as I thought I had.) My little rowboat has taken on water. One of my creditors this morning refused a payment from me. They felt they were being nice, letting me know that my offered payment was too little to make any difference in the monstrous wave they are sending my way.
THIS WAS NOT MY PLAN.
I will, in the next few weeks, file bankruptcy it seems. I am frankly heartbroken. This is the ultimate (in my mind) financial failure that I have been trying so hard to AVOID by continuing my education.
THIS WAS NOT MY PLAN.
It is not what I want to do. I would much prefer if this company would take my inadequate payment as a token, a gesture, a promise that I don't want to walk away from this bill. It would be like getting the $100 promise ring from your lover when you were hoping for a $20,000 diamond wedding set. I know that. But it would be SOMETHING.
How was I to know four years ago when I applied to law school that this was going to happen? Four years ago the country was wondering (again) how "W" made it to office, how much longer the war with Iraq would go on, and purchasing, or making payments on, car loans with 0% interest w.a.p. Things looked good. I was one of the ones who got a brand new car for 0% interest, my credit was that good. Now the car, the old girl, is seven years old and needs work.
Tell me how it is more acceptable to these creditors, to the ones who extended this credit to me and folks like me, to not accept even de minimis payments? We are all going to have to ride out this storm together. If they simply force people into bankruptcy, they will not see a return on most of what they have lent. Why not take the de minimis payments and let us ride out this storm with them?
A woman I spoke with this morning who threatened me by telling me that I should know that not paying my bill was only going to make it impossible for me to sit for the bar exam (she was not listening to me, only speaking her spiel and reading her computer screen), also told me that I was going to have to pay income tax on anything they write off.
Here we go. They get to claim the loss on their taxes. There IS an economic profit for them when they do not ride out the storm with us. Why is it okay for them to not ride out this storm with us? We did not create the storm (though some of them certainly played some part in this storm's creation.)
Fingers are pointed back and forth at this politician and that bank, or people who are over extended on credit, blame trying to find a home.
We ALL are part of this. We ALL should ride this out together. Credit card companies included.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Mixed Emotions - it's a rollercoaster
There are many things about this economic downturn that I do not like. Many, many things. But the emotional roller coaster it puts you on may be the most destructive.
Yesterday, at the Temp Fed Job, one of the attorneys came to the 'office' of the temp attorneys with a notice of a job fair next week. She suggested that we apply if we would like, and that in the end, any position could lead to an attorney position. Cool. Three of us expressed some interest. I worked hard yesterday, and at some point realized that the attorney there is beginning to rely on me to help the others with computer stuff.
This morning when I got in, two of the attorneys who expressed interest (I was the third) were called in to the Fed Attorney's office. I do not know why. I have no idea why. But, because they were two who verbally expressed interest yesterday, I suspected it had to do with the job fair. And that I was not included.
This springs from having 'lost' (was not offered anything, I'll give you that) a position at the law firm I clerked at last May, and paranoia set in. My stomach is still upset.
The "lost position" last year was with the law firm I was a paralegal for years before law school. I clerked there off and on during law school. Clerked there virtually my entire 3rd year of law school. The senior attorney at that office told me no less than twice that I needn't look for another job. And I didn't.
Being the helpful soul that I am , when an attorney he used to work with was laid off from her job, I instigated getting the two of them together and, yes, she was rehired. He also hired another attorney he had worked with before I ever set foot in the office. When graduation was just a day or two away, he finally talked to me about a position with his firm . . . and told me he didn't need me. I told him I just needed to know if I had a position , any position with the firm (he hired one attorney as a paralegal/attorney at one point, and he mentioned that possibility at some point months before). He got really stupid, said that I had "interrupted him" and that he wasn't going to discuss this when I was "in a mood." I wasn't in a 'mood'. I was scared. I was frustrated. I was not interrupting him nor was I acting out. I merely asked a question. He, on the other hand, yelled, acted out, and ended the meeting.
I didn't wait around to find out when he would calm down or what, if anything, he might offer. I turned in my keys and left. My semester had ended and that had been our deal - that I would clerk during school.
So, yeah, today at the Temp Fed Job, scared me. I felt like I was back at that firm, training people, being helpful, hoping to be treated right . . .
I have to have faith and wait.
Having faith, trusting in Karma/Goddess/God/the Universe (choose your spiritual flavor) is hard. We've all been kicked before, I know this. I just want the kicking to stop!
I don't even want to appear to be someone's doormat again.
:-(
Yesterday, at the Temp Fed Job, one of the attorneys came to the 'office' of the temp attorneys with a notice of a job fair next week. She suggested that we apply if we would like, and that in the end, any position could lead to an attorney position. Cool. Three of us expressed some interest. I worked hard yesterday, and at some point realized that the attorney there is beginning to rely on me to help the others with computer stuff.
This morning when I got in, two of the attorneys who expressed interest (I was the third) were called in to the Fed Attorney's office. I do not know why. I have no idea why. But, because they were two who verbally expressed interest yesterday, I suspected it had to do with the job fair. And that I was not included.
This springs from having 'lost' (was not offered anything, I'll give you that) a position at the law firm I clerked at last May, and paranoia set in. My stomach is still upset.
The "lost position" last year was with the law firm I was a paralegal for years before law school. I clerked there off and on during law school. Clerked there virtually my entire 3rd year of law school. The senior attorney at that office told me no less than twice that I needn't look for another job. And I didn't.
Being the helpful soul that I am , when an attorney he used to work with was laid off from her job, I instigated getting the two of them together and, yes, she was rehired. He also hired another attorney he had worked with before I ever set foot in the office. When graduation was just a day or two away, he finally talked to me about a position with his firm . . . and told me he didn't need me. I told him I just needed to know if I had a position , any position with the firm (he hired one attorney as a paralegal/attorney at one point, and he mentioned that possibility at some point months before). He got really stupid, said that I had "interrupted him" and that he wasn't going to discuss this when I was "in a mood." I wasn't in a 'mood'. I was scared. I was frustrated. I was not interrupting him nor was I acting out. I merely asked a question. He, on the other hand, yelled, acted out, and ended the meeting.
I didn't wait around to find out when he would calm down or what, if anything, he might offer. I turned in my keys and left. My semester had ended and that had been our deal - that I would clerk during school.
So, yeah, today at the Temp Fed Job, scared me. I felt like I was back at that firm, training people, being helpful, hoping to be treated right . . .
I have to have faith and wait.
Having faith, trusting in Karma/Goddess/God/the Universe (choose your spiritual flavor) is hard. We've all been kicked before, I know this. I just want the kicking to stop!
I don't even want to appear to be someone's doormat again.
:-(
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Happy Exhaustion :-)
It is ten at night, and I've just gotten home in the last few minutes. I am eating dinner, trying to anyway, before I fall over asleep.
One of the things I did not know about working for the feds is that when you are a temporary employee, there for a specific task, there is a certain number of hours approved for you to work. And, in this case anyway, the number of hours are more or less set in stone. Of the eight of us working in my group, no less than three of us have taken time off to take care of an illness, an accident or an emergency at home. We are suppposed to make up that time. So, this week, I have been making up time the I missed last week. It has not been easy. Saturday, as you probably know, was the "time change" and we lost an hour. What a crock of crap!!! I never lose JUST an hour when we "spring forward". There are HOURS of sleep lost this time of year.
I have a bit of insomnia anyway, and generally wake around 2 a.m. I am (all too often) awake for an hour (or more on really bad nights). With the time change, 2 is 3. With the time change, I could not go to sleep Sunday evening. And with the 'emergency at home' last week, I needed to rise early Monday and begin the task of making up time. So, when I woke at "2:30" the clock read "3:30" and I was supposed to get up at 4:30. Yeah. I woke up at 3:30 Monday morning.
Monday night, neither my son or I could get to sleep. So, Monday night was short sleep. Last night, blessedly I slept.
Tonight, I went straight from working for the feds, to my part-time teaching position. The positions are in different states. The same metropolitan area, but different states. There is 1/2 an hour between leaving one place and needing to be at the other place. No time for dinner.
Sigh
So, I eat now, sure to regret it about 2 a.m. (or is that 3 a.m.???) Tomorrow, I teach again. We'll see how this goes. So far, so good. I want to enjoy teaching. I have wanted to teach for so long! One night will not tell me all I need to know though, so I will remain cautious.
Do not be winnowed in these tough times!!! (Iwill try to explain that next post.)
One of the things I did not know about working for the feds is that when you are a temporary employee, there for a specific task, there is a certain number of hours approved for you to work. And, in this case anyway, the number of hours are more or less set in stone. Of the eight of us working in my group, no less than three of us have taken time off to take care of an illness, an accident or an emergency at home. We are suppposed to make up that time. So, this week, I have been making up time the I missed last week. It has not been easy. Saturday, as you probably know, was the "time change" and we lost an hour. What a crock of crap!!! I never lose JUST an hour when we "spring forward". There are HOURS of sleep lost this time of year.
I have a bit of insomnia anyway, and generally wake around 2 a.m. I am (all too often) awake for an hour (or more on really bad nights). With the time change, 2 is 3. With the time change, I could not go to sleep Sunday evening. And with the 'emergency at home' last week, I needed to rise early Monday and begin the task of making up time. So, when I woke at "2:30" the clock read "3:30" and I was supposed to get up at 4:30. Yeah. I woke up at 3:30 Monday morning.
Monday night, neither my son or I could get to sleep. So, Monday night was short sleep. Last night, blessedly I slept.
Tonight, I went straight from working for the feds, to my part-time teaching position. The positions are in different states. The same metropolitan area, but different states. There is 1/2 an hour between leaving one place and needing to be at the other place. No time for dinner.
Sigh
So, I eat now, sure to regret it about 2 a.m. (or is that 3 a.m.???) Tomorrow, I teach again. We'll see how this goes. So far, so good. I want to enjoy teaching. I have wanted to teach for so long! One night will not tell me all I need to know though, so I will remain cautious.
Do not be winnowed in these tough times!!! (Iwill try to explain that next post.)
Monday, March 9, 2009
It's Monday
So it seems to me that my life is either too busy or in a state of waiting.
Today, I found out that the woman who told us, on the day we started the temp job, that it was payday that day, and that we would not receive a check for 4 weeks was wrong. We should be getting paid tomorrow, and (hopefully it goes as planned so that) the money will just BE THERE when I wake. WHICH will mean, ta da! I can pay some bills. AND can purchase the Turbo Tax program, file my taxes and get my refund.
With my tax refund I am going to get the mortgage caught up, and purchase some underwear. Seriously. I haven't bought new underwear in a LONG time. No, not weeks -months. many many months. It's been more months than I care to tell you. I recall one of my law professors saying one day that bedsheets should be trashed after 1 year's use (she would faint at the sheet I have from a bridal shower from my FIRST marriage! It's never used, I just can't throw it away.) I can't imagine how long her standard for keeping underwear is, but I am certain the pairs I have are beyond her expiration date.
I am rambling. I am just so relieved that I am getting money tomorrow (or should be!) that I earned. It's really been too too long.
The boy, the 11 year old boy who will NOT stop being irritating (he is at this moemnt tickling my foot) needs attention. :-)
Today, I found out that the woman who told us, on the day we started the temp job, that it was payday that day, and that we would not receive a check for 4 weeks was wrong. We should be getting paid tomorrow, and (hopefully it goes as planned so that) the money will just BE THERE when I wake. WHICH will mean, ta da! I can pay some bills. AND can purchase the Turbo Tax program, file my taxes and get my refund.
With my tax refund I am going to get the mortgage caught up, and purchase some underwear. Seriously. I haven't bought new underwear in a LONG time. No, not weeks -months. many many months. It's been more months than I care to tell you. I recall one of my law professors saying one day that bedsheets should be trashed after 1 year's use (she would faint at the sheet I have from a bridal shower from my FIRST marriage! It's never used, I just can't throw it away.) I can't imagine how long her standard for keeping underwear is, but I am certain the pairs I have are beyond her expiration date.
I am rambling. I am just so relieved that I am getting money tomorrow (or should be!) that I earned. It's really been too too long.
The boy, the 11 year old boy who will NOT stop being irritating (he is at this moemnt tickling my foot) needs attention. :-)
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Just Thursday
I realized today just how busy I will be for the next few weeks.
As I think I said before, I have a couple of clients. I've had ten or twelve altogether, but only two or three are active at this time. I am also working a temporary attorney position at a government agency. It is only supposed to last 6 weeks (I am hoping it lasts 6 years at this point) and we are nearly three weeks into that time. Next week I will start teaching part-time at night.
Now the government job holds back an entire month of pay before you get a check. The college is the same, I believe. And my clients . . . well too many of them haven't paid me a dime. One, God love her, is a relative and apparently has some idea that because I got through law school I have money. This simply isn't so. I blew my entire wad, as well as every dime of credit available to me to get through law school. She probably makes more than me driving a school bus right now (I wish I was exaggerating, but I am not.) Plus, now, having very little income (less than I made as a paralegal) folks want to be paid.
Yeah, me too. The government pay check is still nearly 2 weeks away. And it is one of about 3 I will get. Then that gig will probably be over (cross your fingers for me that it isn't.)
Okay, the boy wants attention. Perhaps more later.
As I think I said before, I have a couple of clients. I've had ten or twelve altogether, but only two or three are active at this time. I am also working a temporary attorney position at a government agency. It is only supposed to last 6 weeks (I am hoping it lasts 6 years at this point) and we are nearly three weeks into that time. Next week I will start teaching part-time at night.
Now the government job holds back an entire month of pay before you get a check. The college is the same, I believe. And my clients . . . well too many of them haven't paid me a dime. One, God love her, is a relative and apparently has some idea that because I got through law school I have money. This simply isn't so. I blew my entire wad, as well as every dime of credit available to me to get through law school. She probably makes more than me driving a school bus right now (I wish I was exaggerating, but I am not.) Plus, now, having very little income (less than I made as a paralegal) folks want to be paid.
Yeah, me too. The government pay check is still nearly 2 weeks away. And it is one of about 3 I will get. Then that gig will probably be over (cross your fingers for me that it isn't.)
Okay, the boy wants attention. Perhaps more later.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The Economy
This is my favorite bitch session topic at the moment. I will likely post about this more than once.
A couple of days ago I posted about the job interview I had to turn down. Being desperate for a full time, permanent job, I am sure there is someone out there whose brain screams "why!!???" Believe me, mine did too.
When I sent off my resume/applied for the position, the job description stated that this state-position could be virtually anywhere in the state, and to please post my preference(s) as to location. I did so. When I got the call for the interview, I asked a couple of questions. First, the particular positions the state is fillling at the moment are all in our state capital. Interviews would take place for approximately a one week period, offers would go out within a week after that, and the jobs begin within two weeks after that.
In other words, I would have had to move within a two to three week period.
There are a few things wrong with moving that quickly, some of which can be overcome. Two things, in my mind could not. First, moving and leaving behind ANY dwelling is hard to do in a two week period. Even a landlord requires 30 days notice, at the very least. Add in that I am purchasing this house, that the economy is depressed, home sales are depressed, and moving that quickly looked like it would also equal having a house payment here AND paying rent in the new place for an undefined period of time. The new position being offered, was being offered at what I think of as 'new attorney minimum wage', about $38k a year. It would be hard making ends meet on that salary with just one rent/house payment a month. That is one.
The second reason, and the one that I could not get around, is that our state requires (not suggests, requires) that a divorced parent provide the other parent 60 days notice of a move. There are arguments to be made, for certain, about lack of employment, depressed economy, etc., but in the end, making a move can equal change of physical custody of the child. That is too high a price to pay even if the job paid $120k a year.
I made the decision in the seconds I had to either turn it down or schedule an interview. I went back to my work area at the temp job, and told the other temporary attorneys that our state had potential jobs available. I waited a few minutes, then went to the bathroom and cried, my father's voice in my head, in that snide tone he used, "you go where the jobs are. period. beggers can't be choosers." Being a mom IS a 'job'. It is the most important job I have. It is the one that comes first, before all else.
It is NOT that I would not move for a job. But I need more than two weeks to make a move.
It also is NOT that I would stand in my son's way if he decided to live with his father (I would make certain he really wanted that.) However, there are extenuating circumstances that would make me consider trying to keep that from happening. In my heart and head I do not believe he would be safe with his father.
And so, for now, the job hunt in this depressed economy continues.
A couple of days ago I posted about the job interview I had to turn down. Being desperate for a full time, permanent job, I am sure there is someone out there whose brain screams "why!!???" Believe me, mine did too.
When I sent off my resume/applied for the position, the job description stated that this state-position could be virtually anywhere in the state, and to please post my preference(s) as to location. I did so. When I got the call for the interview, I asked a couple of questions. First, the particular positions the state is fillling at the moment are all in our state capital. Interviews would take place for approximately a one week period, offers would go out within a week after that, and the jobs begin within two weeks after that.
In other words, I would have had to move within a two to three week period.
There are a few things wrong with moving that quickly, some of which can be overcome. Two things, in my mind could not. First, moving and leaving behind ANY dwelling is hard to do in a two week period. Even a landlord requires 30 days notice, at the very least. Add in that I am purchasing this house, that the economy is depressed, home sales are depressed, and moving that quickly looked like it would also equal having a house payment here AND paying rent in the new place for an undefined period of time. The new position being offered, was being offered at what I think of as 'new attorney minimum wage', about $38k a year. It would be hard making ends meet on that salary with just one rent/house payment a month. That is one.
The second reason, and the one that I could not get around, is that our state requires (not suggests, requires) that a divorced parent provide the other parent 60 days notice of a move. There are arguments to be made, for certain, about lack of employment, depressed economy, etc., but in the end, making a move can equal change of physical custody of the child. That is too high a price to pay even if the job paid $120k a year.
I made the decision in the seconds I had to either turn it down or schedule an interview. I went back to my work area at the temp job, and told the other temporary attorneys that our state had potential jobs available. I waited a few minutes, then went to the bathroom and cried, my father's voice in my head, in that snide tone he used, "you go where the jobs are. period. beggers can't be choosers." Being a mom IS a 'job'. It is the most important job I have. It is the one that comes first, before all else.
It is NOT that I would not move for a job. But I need more than two weeks to make a move.
It also is NOT that I would stand in my son's way if he decided to live with his father (I would make certain he really wanted that.) However, there are extenuating circumstances that would make me consider trying to keep that from happening. In my heart and head I do not believe he would be safe with his father.
And so, for now, the job hunt in this depressed economy continues.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Bad Day
Today was a truly bad day.
If the old saying "it is always darkest before the dawn" holds any truth at all, then awesomely bright sunshine should be lighting my life very very soon.
Actually I've had a string of not-so-great days in a row. About 10 months worth so far.
Yesterday, trying to conserve as much as possible, I was attempting to remove spaghetti from the pot w/o draining the water into the sink as I had more pasta to cook. I ended up putting my finger into the boiling water. It still hurts.
Today? I had to turn down a job interview. Why? Because it would have ended up being a choice between my son and the job. My son won that battle (one he didn't and does not know about) hands down, no questions asked. [I wonder sometimes if my older girls know that I made similar decisions for them when they were younger? Probably not.]
There is also an issue with the water bill. Unpleasantness.
It makes no sense to me that I can be this educated and this broke all at the same time. Well, I expected to be broke after law school, but expected to be PAYING my bills and be broke, not the situation I am in.
*huge rumbling sigh*
If the old saying "it is always darkest before the dawn" holds any truth at all, then awesomely bright sunshine should be lighting my life very very soon.
Actually I've had a string of not-so-great days in a row. About 10 months worth so far.
Yesterday, trying to conserve as much as possible, I was attempting to remove spaghetti from the pot w/o draining the water into the sink as I had more pasta to cook. I ended up putting my finger into the boiling water. It still hurts.
Today? I had to turn down a job interview. Why? Because it would have ended up being a choice between my son and the job. My son won that battle (one he didn't and does not know about) hands down, no questions asked. [I wonder sometimes if my older girls know that I made similar decisions for them when they were younger? Probably not.]
There is also an issue with the water bill. Unpleasantness.
It makes no sense to me that I can be this educated and this broke all at the same time. Well, I expected to be broke after law school, but expected to be PAYING my bills and be broke, not the situation I am in.
*huge rumbling sigh*
Saturday, February 28, 2009
StEreotYpicAl
Turn on your television. I know, most are telling you to turn it off, unless you are watching some news program of which that particular person approves. And maybe on some level they are right, but I am not here to argue the pros and cons of television. Go ahead, turn it on. I’ll wait.
Now, flip channels until you find something about a girl or woman who has been raped. Yeah, yeah, there might be something on one of the afore-mentioned news channels, or Law & Order SVU, or maybe the Lifetime channel. If that isn’t working, look on the movie channels or a music channel.
The chances are you will find something. And, the odds are pretty good that if it is a drama you have found, and the victim is now some distance-in-time past the act itself, she is being portrayed as a whimpering puddle of ‘why me’, or a drug infested prostitute, or a weapon wielding woman out for revenge, or even a plain-Jane who is living her life in nun-like celibacy, desperately trying to regain what was lost.
Television has pigeon-holed rape victims into generally accepted stereotypes. No, virtually EVERYONE has pigeon-holed rape victims. The general public has been given the impression that if a girl is raped, even once, especially as a child, and is not put into therapy immediately, she will grow up to abuse drugs, alcohol or both, be promiscuous (at least) and probably a prostitute, or have "gone-round the bend" in a mental-health sort of way.
There are other options!
Television, and the general public have it wrong.
Maybe they need to believe that someone who lived though such a violent invasion of their body and their being cannot then thrive. Maybe they cannot imagine recovering and coming out stronger.
Maybe they can’t, but I know it is possible. I don’t have to imagine it. I have been through it. I know.
I know and I am pissed.
I am angry that the media and the general public seem to want to pound into survivors heads that they must remain in a victim like state. That the only options are some mythical ‘complete healing’ or abject victim-hood.
I am pissed at the people who believe that if I am not in some militant stance against all who have committed such crimes, that I must not be ‘fully healed’.
I am especially angry that anyone has given victims (can we say Survivors? Yes we can!!) the impression that there is some ‘fully healed’ state that is their duty to reach. Find me one person on the face of this earth who does not have some mental health issue. At least one point in your life, you will. I would argue that it is not one pinpointed time, but that some sort of something is carried by each of us throughout our lives.
First, let’s get this very straight right now, there is no such state as "fully healed". Fully healed in most peoples eyes is where the act no longer matters to the victim, where she (or he, I do not mean to leave males out - but if the legal community can use ‘he’ to mean ‘he, she or they’, then I can use ‘she’ to mean a survivor of rape damn it!) can live her life with no ‘stain’ of the act on her life. You will never reach a point in your life where this thing that happened to you will not matter. It isn’t going to happen. It will stay with her in the same way the joy of winning first place in Drama Club in high school will. Or her first date with the love of her life. But it doesn’t have to be a ‘stain’. I used that word in an effort to convey what some others seem to believe.
As fully healed as anyone can be, in my mind, is the ability to get out of bed every morning and keep plugging away at life, without drugs, without alcohol, without any addiction to anything illegal, and reaching for an actual goal.
Second, her "duty" is resoundingly not to heal to someone else’s satisfaction. Or on that person’s time table. Or to some degree that makes that other person feel comfortable.
Fuck the people with agendas and time tables. Fuck the media. Fuck the general public. And fuck those people who talk down to you when they find out your past, pretending they are ‘being gentle with you’, when in reality they are being condescending. As if you are going to explode into a million tiny pieces if they don’t treat you differently than they would any co-worker or friend.
Well, not literally fuck them, but don’t let them make their agendas and their time tables or their attitudes part of YOUR healing process.
And do not EVER let anyone make you feel wrong for using the tools you have at hand to deal with this. But look, don’t use tools that will harm you further. Be smart about it and know that you not only got through it, survived it, you can now thrive. You don’t have to use drugs or alcohol to forget. You aren’t going to forget. And you don’t have to say yes every time someone wants your body. You also don’t have to be abrasive or eat too little or too much to keep another from wanting you physically. You can just say no.
One of my tools, the biggie really, has been school. Has always been school. School has been my haven, and remains my haven. Well, for the most part, but we’ll get to that some other time.
I could talk about tools all day. But I won’t. Let’s just mention a few here, you should write down the ones you know you use, and add to them as you go along - I am still realizing mine. I have used silence. I also sometimes close off. Push situations away so that I have some distance and can observe rather than fully participate. That was a good one to use during the actual acts.
There were times, growing up in a sexually abusive home, when I pushed hard enough to get away from a situation, to get some distance, that I went somewhere else mentally and was not present during the act. That was a very useful tool for me at those particular moments, but really doesn’t work so well in your life.
What else? Well I have learned to write a great deal when I need some clarification. When I was going through the process of winding up law school, applying to take the bar exam and things, I kept crying. I could not quite pinpoint why I was crying. Oh part of it was that my mother passed a few years ago and would not be there to see me get my J.D. But she had been gone for several years before I even began law school, so that didn’t seem to be the problem. I wrote. I wrote until I figured out why it was bothering me so. And then I stopped crying.
Writing and tears. They’re both good. So is a really good counselor. The one I see is a licensed clinical social worker.
Crying is good. Like I said, I have the ability to be completely absent in a situation. It isn’t always ‘pleasant’ but I like being present in situations now. And sometimes that means tears. It is so much better than not feeling. I’ll take being present in a situation and crying because of it over being somewhere else mentally any day of the week.
I just have to say one thing about law school. I was forty-four years old when I graduated. Not exactly young. It took me a long, long time to get there. There was no ‘look she’s healed’ movie-inspired happy ending for me at 20 or 22. School is my haven, and believe me I’ve used it. I have spent 20 years going to college and then law school, at night, here and there, sometimes with big breaks between one semester and the next. So the thing I want to say is this . . . the little girl in me, the one who used to hide in her closet and try really, really hard to be invisible, has been dancing with joy since about half-way through the last semester, when she realized she really had made it through the stress-filled years of law school. She is still shaking it.
:-)
Now, flip channels until you find something about a girl or woman who has been raped. Yeah, yeah, there might be something on one of the afore-mentioned news channels, or Law & Order SVU, or maybe the Lifetime channel. If that isn’t working, look on the movie channels or a music channel.
The chances are you will find something. And, the odds are pretty good that if it is a drama you have found, and the victim is now some distance-in-time past the act itself, she is being portrayed as a whimpering puddle of ‘why me’, or a drug infested prostitute, or a weapon wielding woman out for revenge, or even a plain-Jane who is living her life in nun-like celibacy, desperately trying to regain what was lost.
Television has pigeon-holed rape victims into generally accepted stereotypes. No, virtually EVERYONE has pigeon-holed rape victims. The general public has been given the impression that if a girl is raped, even once, especially as a child, and is not put into therapy immediately, she will grow up to abuse drugs, alcohol or both, be promiscuous (at least) and probably a prostitute, or have "gone-round the bend" in a mental-health sort of way.
There are other options!
Television, and the general public have it wrong.
Maybe they need to believe that someone who lived though such a violent invasion of their body and their being cannot then thrive. Maybe they cannot imagine recovering and coming out stronger.
Maybe they can’t, but I know it is possible. I don’t have to imagine it. I have been through it. I know.
I know and I am pissed.
I am angry that the media and the general public seem to want to pound into survivors heads that they must remain in a victim like state. That the only options are some mythical ‘complete healing’ or abject victim-hood.
I am pissed at the people who believe that if I am not in some militant stance against all who have committed such crimes, that I must not be ‘fully healed’.
I am especially angry that anyone has given victims (can we say Survivors? Yes we can!!) the impression that there is some ‘fully healed’ state that is their duty to reach. Find me one person on the face of this earth who does not have some mental health issue. At least one point in your life, you will. I would argue that it is not one pinpointed time, but that some sort of something is carried by each of us throughout our lives.
First, let’s get this very straight right now, there is no such state as "fully healed". Fully healed in most peoples eyes is where the act no longer matters to the victim, where she (or he, I do not mean to leave males out - but if the legal community can use ‘he’ to mean ‘he, she or they’, then I can use ‘she’ to mean a survivor of rape damn it!) can live her life with no ‘stain’ of the act on her life. You will never reach a point in your life where this thing that happened to you will not matter. It isn’t going to happen. It will stay with her in the same way the joy of winning first place in Drama Club in high school will. Or her first date with the love of her life. But it doesn’t have to be a ‘stain’. I used that word in an effort to convey what some others seem to believe.
As fully healed as anyone can be, in my mind, is the ability to get out of bed every morning and keep plugging away at life, without drugs, without alcohol, without any addiction to anything illegal, and reaching for an actual goal.
Second, her "duty" is resoundingly not to heal to someone else’s satisfaction. Or on that person’s time table. Or to some degree that makes that other person feel comfortable.
Fuck the people with agendas and time tables. Fuck the media. Fuck the general public. And fuck those people who talk down to you when they find out your past, pretending they are ‘being gentle with you’, when in reality they are being condescending. As if you are going to explode into a million tiny pieces if they don’t treat you differently than they would any co-worker or friend.
Well, not literally fuck them, but don’t let them make their agendas and their time tables or their attitudes part of YOUR healing process.
And do not EVER let anyone make you feel wrong for using the tools you have at hand to deal with this. But look, don’t use tools that will harm you further. Be smart about it and know that you not only got through it, survived it, you can now thrive. You don’t have to use drugs or alcohol to forget. You aren’t going to forget. And you don’t have to say yes every time someone wants your body. You also don’t have to be abrasive or eat too little or too much to keep another from wanting you physically. You can just say no.
One of my tools, the biggie really, has been school. Has always been school. School has been my haven, and remains my haven. Well, for the most part, but we’ll get to that some other time.
I could talk about tools all day. But I won’t. Let’s just mention a few here, you should write down the ones you know you use, and add to them as you go along - I am still realizing mine. I have used silence. I also sometimes close off. Push situations away so that I have some distance and can observe rather than fully participate. That was a good one to use during the actual acts.
There were times, growing up in a sexually abusive home, when I pushed hard enough to get away from a situation, to get some distance, that I went somewhere else mentally and was not present during the act. That was a very useful tool for me at those particular moments, but really doesn’t work so well in your life.
What else? Well I have learned to write a great deal when I need some clarification. When I was going through the process of winding up law school, applying to take the bar exam and things, I kept crying. I could not quite pinpoint why I was crying. Oh part of it was that my mother passed a few years ago and would not be there to see me get my J.D. But she had been gone for several years before I even began law school, so that didn’t seem to be the problem. I wrote. I wrote until I figured out why it was bothering me so. And then I stopped crying.
Writing and tears. They’re both good. So is a really good counselor. The one I see is a licensed clinical social worker.
Crying is good. Like I said, I have the ability to be completely absent in a situation. It isn’t always ‘pleasant’ but I like being present in situations now. And sometimes that means tears. It is so much better than not feeling. I’ll take being present in a situation and crying because of it over being somewhere else mentally any day of the week.
I just have to say one thing about law school. I was forty-four years old when I graduated. Not exactly young. It took me a long, long time to get there. There was no ‘look she’s healed’ movie-inspired happy ending for me at 20 or 22. School is my haven, and believe me I’ve used it. I have spent 20 years going to college and then law school, at night, here and there, sometimes with big breaks between one semester and the next. So the thing I want to say is this . . . the little girl in me, the one who used to hide in her closet and try really, really hard to be invisible, has been dancing with joy since about half-way through the last semester, when she realized she really had made it through the stress-filled years of law school. She is still shaking it.
:-)
Karmic Splash
They were in the car, driving to the shoe store. It was fall in Missouri but extremely fall this day. It was one of those days when you knew the Autumnal Goddess and the Winter God were fighting for control. Rain had set in hours before in a long sweeping line from the Canadian border travelling well south of their Kansas City area home. North of them, the precipitation fell as ice. It wouldn’t be much longer at all before they were chipping and scraping ice from their own cars. Perhaps needing to let the cars warm for 20 minutes or more before ½ inch thick ice could be broken apart and scraped from the cars. Half inch thick ice was bad, but it had been worse. The younger of the two women didn’t drive if it was worse than that though. The older one’s rule of thumb wasn’t the thickness of the ice, but the number of neighbors whose cars had slid into the creek before she started out. More than two in the creek and she was sure not to travel. One or two and she used other factors to help her determine if risking her life was worth the paycheck or whatever she needed to go out for.
The two women were mother and daughter, though most people did not assume that when they saw them together in a store. More often strangers thought they were a lesbian couple, and that the older one liked ‘em young. The two laughed about that when they bothered still to talk about it. It had been a topic of conversation the first couple of times it had happened, out of surprise more than anything else. The woman was more than twenty-four years older than this daughter, and this one was not the oldest of the woman’s children. The mother didn’t fault strangers for picking up on the fact that the two loved each other unquestionably. She was bothered however when waitresses or sales people treated them rudely out of homophobic prejudice. Utterly ridiculous, in her mind, to fault someone for loving another in this world, regardless of sexual orientation. Too many people hated. Love was something to be honored and cultivated, not shunned, ridiculed and punished.
Rhetta gave her daughter a wicked glance. “Do you want to drive?”
“No!” Willow laughed. “You haven’t been in my car since you taught me to drive the manual transmission.”
Rhetta glanced at her daughter with a smirk on her face. “Yes I have. I drove it once. I moved it so I could get my car out of the driveway, and I left food in there for you.” Rhetta smiled bigger, knowing Willow was going to come back with something. Willow was almost twenty, and still nervous about teasing her mother. Still afraid she would step over a line and get into trouble.
“But you haven’t been in my car with me driving and you in the passenger seat since you taught me to drive it.” Willow laughed, knowing she was right, and knowing the reason why.
Rhetta sighed the deep rumbly sigh of one who has at least a partly Irish heritage. “Yes, well, we all know I have control issues Willow. I am not even going to pretend I don’t. And if you are driving I am not in control.” Rhetta glanced at Willow and laughed.
Willow laughed too. “Oooh, I think it is a lot more than a little control issue Mother.”
“Yes. I don’t like your driving.” The two laughed again. Rhetta took off after the light turned green. The water Willow had been trying to drink slopped onto her hoodie.
“Damn. I hate karma.” Willow complained. “Tease your Mom, and what happens?”
“Karmic Splash!” Rhetta said. And they both laughed again.
The two women were mother and daughter, though most people did not assume that when they saw them together in a store. More often strangers thought they were a lesbian couple, and that the older one liked ‘em young. The two laughed about that when they bothered still to talk about it. It had been a topic of conversation the first couple of times it had happened, out of surprise more than anything else. The woman was more than twenty-four years older than this daughter, and this one was not the oldest of the woman’s children. The mother didn’t fault strangers for picking up on the fact that the two loved each other unquestionably. She was bothered however when waitresses or sales people treated them rudely out of homophobic prejudice. Utterly ridiculous, in her mind, to fault someone for loving another in this world, regardless of sexual orientation. Too many people hated. Love was something to be honored and cultivated, not shunned, ridiculed and punished.
Rhetta gave her daughter a wicked glance. “Do you want to drive?”
“No!” Willow laughed. “You haven’t been in my car since you taught me to drive the manual transmission.”
Rhetta glanced at her daughter with a smirk on her face. “Yes I have. I drove it once. I moved it so I could get my car out of the driveway, and I left food in there for you.” Rhetta smiled bigger, knowing Willow was going to come back with something. Willow was almost twenty, and still nervous about teasing her mother. Still afraid she would step over a line and get into trouble.
“But you haven’t been in my car with me driving and you in the passenger seat since you taught me to drive it.” Willow laughed, knowing she was right, and knowing the reason why.
Rhetta sighed the deep rumbly sigh of one who has at least a partly Irish heritage. “Yes, well, we all know I have control issues Willow. I am not even going to pretend I don’t. And if you are driving I am not in control.” Rhetta glanced at Willow and laughed.
Willow laughed too. “Oooh, I think it is a lot more than a little control issue Mother.”
“Yes. I don’t like your driving.” The two laughed again. Rhetta took off after the light turned green. The water Willow had been trying to drink slopped onto her hoodie.
“Damn. I hate karma.” Willow complained. “Tease your Mom, and what happens?”
“Karmic Splash!” Rhetta said. And they both laughed again.
The Closet
He was back. She held her breath and shut her eyes. He moved the clothing from one side of the closet pole to the other, thinking she was hiding behind them. When he was unsuccessful in finding her that way, he started digging out the shoe boxes, stuffed animals and other toys stacked and stuffed into the end of the closet, opposite of where she was. She was at the end that was more open. He was digging in the end that logically provided more cover.
That was her trick. Her one way of getting away from them. Hide in plain sight. To her left was the large stuffed bear, given to her by her brother now in Viet Nam. On her right were the two grocery bags full of clothing that that would be given to her eldest niece next time that brother and his family came by. The edge of one bag hid the edges of her body on one side, the bear hid the other. She couldn’t hide her face. Some how, when she hid in a way that her entire body was covered, they always found her. It was only when she hid partly and in plain sight that they couldn’t seem to see her. It was hard to find a place to hide her entire body anyway. At seven she was tall, and skinny. But they never really saw her anyway. They only looked at elements of her. Long brown hair. Gangly limbs. A certain height. Since she was sitting and not lying down, like she had when she hid under her bed. So, when they looked for her at a height four or five inches off the ground, they did not see her. When they looked for her at her 4 foot something height, they also did not see her. Sitting, and being something less than 3 feet tall was to her advantage today.
She needed to breathe. She carefully and slowly let air out of her lungs, while trying to keep her chest expanded as much as possible so that movement wouldn’t catch his eye. She slowly and silently breathed in again when she could.
He stepped back. He looked at the closet as a whole, trying to see her. He turned around, looked under the bed again, and in the two bigger drawers in the chest. There was nothing else in the room, and they knew she had run into the room, they’d all seen her run in here.
With his back turned to the closet, she was able to breathe again. She still did it slowly, silently, so he wouldn’t hear it. Was she scared? Yes. She almost always was scared. She didn’t know yet that it wasn’t normal to be scared this much of the time. Scared wasn’t supposed to be the normal state of being.
He left the room then. She relaxed a little. They might stop hunting for her. The last time that happened, she napped in her closet, and woke hours later having never been found. But that time Dad hadn’t been home. Dad hadn’t been the one who wanted her.
He was back soon enough, this time with one of the others in tow. She didn’t like this one. He was mean. Every God given talent he had was used only to hurt others. He had the ability to charm animals. He could put a bee to sleep by petting it. He could charm a scared stray cat into his arms. The bees he would then bury, and when they woke, buried in the dirt, they would fight their way out, ready to sting whatever was closest. The cat, the poor cat, became his toy. He swung it by its tail and let it go only when he knew it would slam onto the concrete of the road. His charm would draw the cat back to him, repeatedly, until it finally crawled off to die.
The second one stood in the room and surveyed it. As he turned toward the closet, the doorless closet, her fear swelled. She held her breath, as she had before, remained motionless, but still he saw her. The charmer was also a natural hunter. He smelled her fear and honed in on it. He grabbed her shoulders and let them slide down her arms into painful grips. He pulled hard, and she began to kick and scream, which never did any good at all, but she refused to go quietly. The first one grabbed her legs, and together they carried her off, out of her bedroom and down the stairs. And, so, to endure another session of fatherly love. Their chore done, they were released to go play outside.
That was her trick. Her one way of getting away from them. Hide in plain sight. To her left was the large stuffed bear, given to her by her brother now in Viet Nam. On her right were the two grocery bags full of clothing that that would be given to her eldest niece next time that brother and his family came by. The edge of one bag hid the edges of her body on one side, the bear hid the other. She couldn’t hide her face. Some how, when she hid in a way that her entire body was covered, they always found her. It was only when she hid partly and in plain sight that they couldn’t seem to see her. It was hard to find a place to hide her entire body anyway. At seven she was tall, and skinny. But they never really saw her anyway. They only looked at elements of her. Long brown hair. Gangly limbs. A certain height. Since she was sitting and not lying down, like she had when she hid under her bed. So, when they looked for her at a height four or five inches off the ground, they did not see her. When they looked for her at her 4 foot something height, they also did not see her. Sitting, and being something less than 3 feet tall was to her advantage today.
She needed to breathe. She carefully and slowly let air out of her lungs, while trying to keep her chest expanded as much as possible so that movement wouldn’t catch his eye. She slowly and silently breathed in again when she could.
He stepped back. He looked at the closet as a whole, trying to see her. He turned around, looked under the bed again, and in the two bigger drawers in the chest. There was nothing else in the room, and they knew she had run into the room, they’d all seen her run in here.
With his back turned to the closet, she was able to breathe again. She still did it slowly, silently, so he wouldn’t hear it. Was she scared? Yes. She almost always was scared. She didn’t know yet that it wasn’t normal to be scared this much of the time. Scared wasn’t supposed to be the normal state of being.
He left the room then. She relaxed a little. They might stop hunting for her. The last time that happened, she napped in her closet, and woke hours later having never been found. But that time Dad hadn’t been home. Dad hadn’t been the one who wanted her.
He was back soon enough, this time with one of the others in tow. She didn’t like this one. He was mean. Every God given talent he had was used only to hurt others. He had the ability to charm animals. He could put a bee to sleep by petting it. He could charm a scared stray cat into his arms. The bees he would then bury, and when they woke, buried in the dirt, they would fight their way out, ready to sting whatever was closest. The cat, the poor cat, became his toy. He swung it by its tail and let it go only when he knew it would slam onto the concrete of the road. His charm would draw the cat back to him, repeatedly, until it finally crawled off to die.
The second one stood in the room and surveyed it. As he turned toward the closet, the doorless closet, her fear swelled. She held her breath, as she had before, remained motionless, but still he saw her. The charmer was also a natural hunter. He smelled her fear and honed in on it. He grabbed her shoulders and let them slide down her arms into painful grips. He pulled hard, and she began to kick and scream, which never did any good at all, but she refused to go quietly. The first one grabbed her legs, and together they carried her off, out of her bedroom and down the stairs. And, so, to endure another session of fatherly love. Their chore done, they were released to go play outside.
The beginning
I plan to post things here that I have written. Much of it, for better or worse, are things from a truly crappy childhood that I find I need to get off my chest.
Read, don't read, whatever floats your boat. If you have something to say, say it, but I reserve the right to delete any comments I do not like, find questionable, creepy, etc.
For those who may know me, my true identity and not my pen name, I am changing names in the writings to protect . . . well frankly mostly my children and myself, but others as well. So, no, I won't change something to make you more comfortable. If I have written something about our pasts, I have written it from my point of view. If you have something to say from your own point of view, feel free to start your own blog.
Read, don't read, whatever floats your boat. If you have something to say, say it, but I reserve the right to delete any comments I do not like, find questionable, creepy, etc.
For those who may know me, my true identity and not my pen name, I am changing names in the writings to protect . . . well frankly mostly my children and myself, but others as well. So, no, I won't change something to make you more comfortable. If I have written something about our pasts, I have written it from my point of view. If you have something to say from your own point of view, feel free to start your own blog.
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