all those people
that have been
emailing me
about leavin
the story
hangin.....
HANG ON !!
it'll come when it comes
promise!
I'm sorry....
but sometimes
life
just buggers up yer storytelling!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
hey you!
ya I'm talking to you...
all those people
that have been
emailing me
about leavin
the story
hangin.....
all those people
that have been
emailing me
about leavin
the story
hangin.....
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Chapter 39
the sound: Steppenwolf – The Pusher, Eric Clapton – Cocaine, Rev Gary Davis – Cocaine Blues, Velvet Underground – Heroin, The Rolling Stones – Mother’s Little Helper, Pink Floyd – Comfortably Numb, Jackson Browne – Cocaine
“What the fuck was that all about?” I demand as we watch Greybeard and his men head to one of the other bar areas.
Robert turns to me as if first noticing me. He gives his big head a shake and then turns to WonderWoman…”take this little girl off to play somewhere”
“Inside or out?” she asks
“Oh definitely out” is the reply.
She nods at me and I stand up on the bench seat and climb over the back of the booth. Rosie and WonderWoman both walk me towards the stairs to the second floor. Both gripping my arms tight enough to leave bruises and Rosie again tells me to be quiet.
As we reach the bottom of the stairs I experience a moment of severe separation from reason and begin to yell. “What the fuck is up with you fucking people? What the fuck is going on? Why am I here? What is this all about? And when do I get to go home? Why am I being taken out?” "Whaddayameaninsideorout? WHATTHEFUCKISGOING ON?" I demand
Rosie slaps her hand over my mouth and pulls me into the shadows of a hallway. “Are you out of your mind little girl? Don’t you know better than to pull that shit out here where they can see you?”
She and WonderWoman tighten their grips on my arms and virtually dance me up the stairs to the second level. We head towards the pinball machine area as it seems the least populated.
“Sit” WonderWoman barks at me and kind of shoves me into a large leather club chair while she and Rosie flop into chairs facing me.
“Well?” I demand
“Loose the ‘tude kid” Rosie answers, “all good things in time”. I begin to sulk as a waitress comes over to take our orders. Rosie orders a round of beers and allows as I might as well get used to the taste of beer as I’ve got a lot of it to drink back at the house.
“Ok…” I begin once the waitress drops the round and leaves, “you both have got to understand my being freaked here…I mean…What the fuck?”
The ladies exchange looks and Rosie clears her throat. “First let me explain about this place” she says.
“Only if it includes why I’m here” I reply, I need some fucking answers or I ain’t gonna be so easy to get along with”
WonderWoman laughs “that’s right little girl, you go ahead and get all tough and shit and see where that gets you”
Rosie sighs, “Janis she’s just scared” she says and then turns to me as I look at her surprised. “I guess by now that you’ve figured out that we all have names other than the one’s we use.”
I nod agreement and she carries on. “I don’t know how it is where you come from…but we use these names to safeguard ourselves for all manner of things, rival clubs, the pigs, assholes that wannabee and even our real families...if ya can call them that. So yes, we all have real names, her’s is Janis, and mine is Phyliss, what’s yours?”
I pause thinking that this is a major show of trust on their part, and then immediately think… “But is it? Maybe it’s just an attempt at making me feel safe?”
“Karen” I reply.
“Ok Karen, here’s the deal. Robert is the president of the club; he has boys to enforce and boys to work. He allows the boys to keep us and we (most times) like to be kept. We do what we are told and we don’t ask too many questions. Capish?”
“But...but...but...” I stutter
“Robert owns the Dump” she goes on, “he’s a business man” she says with something akin to pride. “He gives us money to shop, eat, drink and get high if we want, and all we have to do is just do as he tells us when he tells us.”
“What if you don’t want to do what Robert tells you?” I ask
“That don’t happen.” WonderWoman replies.
“Oh, come on…I’m in business…I own a bar back home, I know what it’s like to have staff, it ain’t no walk in the park.”
“Jesus little girl, yer a little on the slow side eh? We ain’t staff, we’re his property, his 'pride and joy' he calls us...he lets everyone know we're his 'family'.”
Once again the mouth opens before the brain engages…”not fucking likely…nobody owns this girl”
“Drink yer beer” comes the reply.
“What the fuck was that all about?” I demand as we watch Greybeard and his men head to one of the other bar areas.
Robert turns to me as if first noticing me. He gives his big head a shake and then turns to WonderWoman…”take this little girl off to play somewhere”
“Inside or out?” she asks
“Oh definitely out” is the reply.
She nods at me and I stand up on the bench seat and climb over the back of the booth. Rosie and WonderWoman both walk me towards the stairs to the second floor. Both gripping my arms tight enough to leave bruises and Rosie again tells me to be quiet.
As we reach the bottom of the stairs I experience a moment of severe separation from reason and begin to yell. “What the fuck is up with you fucking people? What the fuck is going on? Why am I here? What is this all about? And when do I get to go home? Why am I being taken out?” "Whaddayameaninsideorout? WHATTHEFUCKISGOING ON?" I demand
Rosie slaps her hand over my mouth and pulls me into the shadows of a hallway. “Are you out of your mind little girl? Don’t you know better than to pull that shit out here where they can see you?”
She and WonderWoman tighten their grips on my arms and virtually dance me up the stairs to the second level. We head towards the pinball machine area as it seems the least populated.
“Sit” WonderWoman barks at me and kind of shoves me into a large leather club chair while she and Rosie flop into chairs facing me.
“Well?” I demand
“Loose the ‘tude kid” Rosie answers, “all good things in time”. I begin to sulk as a waitress comes over to take our orders. Rosie orders a round of beers and allows as I might as well get used to the taste of beer as I’ve got a lot of it to drink back at the house.
“Ok…” I begin once the waitress drops the round and leaves, “you both have got to understand my being freaked here…I mean…What the fuck?”
The ladies exchange looks and Rosie clears her throat. “First let me explain about this place” she says.
“Only if it includes why I’m here” I reply, I need some fucking answers or I ain’t gonna be so easy to get along with”
WonderWoman laughs “that’s right little girl, you go ahead and get all tough and shit and see where that gets you”
Rosie sighs, “Janis she’s just scared” she says and then turns to me as I look at her surprised. “I guess by now that you’ve figured out that we all have names other than the one’s we use.”
I nod agreement and she carries on. “I don’t know how it is where you come from…but we use these names to safeguard ourselves for all manner of things, rival clubs, the pigs, assholes that wannabee and even our real families...if ya can call them that. So yes, we all have real names, her’s is Janis, and mine is Phyliss, what’s yours?”
I pause thinking that this is a major show of trust on their part, and then immediately think… “But is it? Maybe it’s just an attempt at making me feel safe?”
“Karen” I reply.
“Ok Karen, here’s the deal. Robert is the president of the club; he has boys to enforce and boys to work. He allows the boys to keep us and we (most times) like to be kept. We do what we are told and we don’t ask too many questions. Capish?”
“But...but...but...” I stutter
“Robert owns the Dump” she goes on, “he’s a business man” she says with something akin to pride. “He gives us money to shop, eat, drink and get high if we want, and all we have to do is just do as he tells us when he tells us.”
“What if you don’t want to do what Robert tells you?” I ask
“That don’t happen.” WonderWoman replies.
“Oh, come on…I’m in business…I own a bar back home, I know what it’s like to have staff, it ain’t no walk in the park.”
“Jesus little girl, yer a little on the slow side eh? We ain’t staff, we’re his property, his 'pride and joy' he calls us...he lets everyone know we're his 'family'.”
Once again the mouth opens before the brain engages…”not fucking likely…nobody owns this girl”
“Drink yer beer” comes the reply.
Monday, January 28, 2008
A legend in my own mind
a month ago today I announced
that over the course of time
from Nov 11 06 to Dec 28 07
I had logged 10, 000 hits on my blog
today I look
and I'm over 11,000
how freakin cool is that?
apparently people are likin the story!
that over the course of time
from Nov 11 06 to Dec 28 07
I had logged 10, 000 hits on my blog
today I look
and I'm over 11,000
how freakin cool is that?
apparently people are likin the story!
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Chapter 38
the sound: ZZ Top – Rough Boy, ZZ Top – Blue Jeans Blues, ZZ Top - Give it Up, ZZ Top – I Thank You, ZZ Top – Just Got Paid, ZZ Top – I’m Bad, I’m Nationwide, ZZ Top – Tush, TT Top – Legs, ZZ Top – Sharpe Dressed Man, ZZ Top – La Grange
I came back to myself to the sound of voices raised in anger and I realize that something is going on at our very table. There’s a kind of tension that I’ve previously not seen amoungst the men and the women are fretful and worried.
I glance about me to see 10 to 12 men striding across the floor towards us. All of them are wearing vests of a color and they are all rather obviously clubbers. Two of them are carrying what looks to be whips and the fellow in the lead has the largest head of long thick straight white hair I have ever seen and an equally long grey beard a la ZZ Top. As they get closer I see the piercing blue eyes and I can’t help but think that in another time I might have followed those eyes somewhere.
The men at our table and the few that are sitting strategically placed around us are all getting tense….very very tense.
I look at Little Man and he is removing his crucifix and handing it to Wonder Woman and I watch suspiciously as Robert pulls the Executioner’s cap off and they all proceed to fill the cap with valuables…watches, rings, wallets and even a couple of dental plates. It occurs to me that these guys are loaded for bear….they are preparing for a fight. Robert hands the hat over the back of the booth to Rosie.
“uhhhhhmmm…what’s going on?” I ask
“shut up and watch” comes from Rosie standing behind me behind out booth.
“what the fuck is it with these people telling me to shut up alla time?” I think just as the white haired fellow makes it to the end of our long oval table.
“Robert…it’s time” he says without preamble.
“Greybeard….what brings you to our neck of the woods?” Robert replies.
Greybeard looks us up and down the table and then leans forward on his hand, his short gloves showing how large his hands are...I can see his knuckles and the huge silver rings he’s wearing. “Robert…I’m not here to play games…there’s no need for this thing to get any nastier than it already is.”
Robert smiles, and it isn’t pretty…”oh it’s already nasty…but it’s gonna get lots worse if you don’t walk away”. An uneasy tremor runs through the men sitting at our table and the tension now feels physical. I start to say that I’d like to get up, to leave and Rosie leans into the back of our table and places her hand on my shoulder as if to say “now is not the time”
I have visions of something starting between these men and me stuck in the middle…so the trembling I’m doing under Rosie’s hand is highly reminiscent of a caged animal...yup that’s how I feel….caged and invisible.
The two fellows with whips step up on either side of Greybeard and one of them leans in to say “we can make this easy…or we can make this hard”. I hear the unmistakable sound of a pistol coming out of its holster beside me and now I’m more frightened than I have been in a long long time…yet again.
Robert leans forward on the table and places his handgun in front of him pointing at Greybeard. “Where the hell did that come from?” I think as I’m trying to remember where Robert could have had that.
Greybeard and both of his henchmen back up a step and Greybeard says “Robert, it doesn’t have to come to this…all you have to do is full fill your side of the bargain...simply pay up…it’s not rocket science.”
Robert smiles again and says “I have every intention” and he places his empty hand on my shoulder closest to him.
Greybeard looks at me as I cower in my seat and smiles at me kindly. “She’s a child” he says.
“She’s Canadian” Robert replies, as if that sets precedence for my looking young…”her name is Baby”
Greybeard’s eyebrow rises…”when?” he asks
“When I’m ready” comes Robert’s reply
One of Greybeard’s men starts forward and Greybeard stops him with a raised hand…”this is the last time I’m asking Robert, next time I’m taking.”
“We’ll see” snorts Robert as Greybeard turns on his heel followed by his men “yes…we’ll just see” he finishes as if to himself.
[note from Wyz...ya'll realize that I've changed the names right?...
~I'm just saying~]
I came back to myself to the sound of voices raised in anger and I realize that something is going on at our very table. There’s a kind of tension that I’ve previously not seen amoungst the men and the women are fretful and worried.
I glance about me to see 10 to 12 men striding across the floor towards us. All of them are wearing vests of a color and they are all rather obviously clubbers. Two of them are carrying what looks to be whips and the fellow in the lead has the largest head of long thick straight white hair I have ever seen and an equally long grey beard a la ZZ Top. As they get closer I see the piercing blue eyes and I can’t help but think that in another time I might have followed those eyes somewhere.
The men at our table and the few that are sitting strategically placed around us are all getting tense….very very tense.
I look at Little Man and he is removing his crucifix and handing it to Wonder Woman and I watch suspiciously as Robert pulls the Executioner’s cap off and they all proceed to fill the cap with valuables…watches, rings, wallets and even a couple of dental plates. It occurs to me that these guys are loaded for bear….they are preparing for a fight. Robert hands the hat over the back of the booth to Rosie.
“uhhhhhmmm…what’s going on?” I ask
“shut up and watch” comes from Rosie standing behind me behind out booth.
“what the fuck is it with these people telling me to shut up alla time?” I think just as the white haired fellow makes it to the end of our long oval table.
“Robert…it’s time” he says without preamble.
“Greybeard….what brings you to our neck of the woods?” Robert replies.
Greybeard looks us up and down the table and then leans forward on his hand, his short gloves showing how large his hands are...I can see his knuckles and the huge silver rings he’s wearing. “Robert…I’m not here to play games…there’s no need for this thing to get any nastier than it already is.”
Robert smiles, and it isn’t pretty…”oh it’s already nasty…but it’s gonna get lots worse if you don’t walk away”. An uneasy tremor runs through the men sitting at our table and the tension now feels physical. I start to say that I’d like to get up, to leave and Rosie leans into the back of our table and places her hand on my shoulder as if to say “now is not the time”
I have visions of something starting between these men and me stuck in the middle…so the trembling I’m doing under Rosie’s hand is highly reminiscent of a caged animal...yup that’s how I feel….caged and invisible.
The two fellows with whips step up on either side of Greybeard and one of them leans in to say “we can make this easy…or we can make this hard”. I hear the unmistakable sound of a pistol coming out of its holster beside me and now I’m more frightened than I have been in a long long time…yet again.
Robert leans forward on the table and places his handgun in front of him pointing at Greybeard. “Where the hell did that come from?” I think as I’m trying to remember where Robert could have had that.
Greybeard and both of his henchmen back up a step and Greybeard says “Robert, it doesn’t have to come to this…all you have to do is full fill your side of the bargain...simply pay up…it’s not rocket science.”
Robert smiles again and says “I have every intention” and he places his empty hand on my shoulder closest to him.
Greybeard looks at me as I cower in my seat and smiles at me kindly. “She’s a child” he says.
“She’s Canadian” Robert replies, as if that sets precedence for my looking young…”her name is Baby”
Greybeard’s eyebrow rises…”when?” he asks
“When I’m ready” comes Robert’s reply
One of Greybeard’s men starts forward and Greybeard stops him with a raised hand…”this is the last time I’m asking Robert, next time I’m taking.”
“We’ll see” snorts Robert as Greybeard turns on his heel followed by his men “yes…we’ll just see” he finishes as if to himself.
[note from Wyz...ya'll realize that I've changed the names right?...
~I'm just saying~]
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Idiosyncrasies
Idiosyncrasies are defined in the dictionary as : a characteristic, habit, mannerism, or the like, that is peculiar to an individual or the physical constitution peculiar to an individual or a peculiarity of the physical or the mental constitution, esp. susceptibility toward drugs, food, etc.
so every body's got 'em...
me? I've got more than yer average share....
but one of my biggest I define as my lack of the 'practical joke' gene (I had this conversation with friends the other night and it bears repeating...)
I am so totally unreceptive to anything that can be construed as a practical joke…as a matter of fact…I am so unreceptive that it usually just pisses me off to a point where I become non-communicative bordering on unresponsive in an effort to keep myself out of jail...or at the very least losing friends.
I don't get the need for it. I can't play games, like card games or games on the computer (unless it's by myself) and the games people play amoungst friends and acquaintances baffle me. I don't see the need for it...and I will not partake in it....if ya got a secret...and you want it to stay a secret...
Do
Not
Tell
Me
I can't do it.
Which is why, I guess, my particular brand of truth is so painful. Cos I can't gloss things over, or make nice for niceness sake. Can't do it....missing that gene too.
Once upon a time my ex and I were living in a small town in NW ON. We lived in the country on a lake (sounds idyllic...but it wasn't...well...maybe it was sometimes...but mostly no electricity and no running water...how fucking idyllic can that be long term?) He and his brothers and sisters were all time practical jokers-case in point at one time they'd actually convinced one of the brother's wives that she could bring her hairdryer into the woods when going on hunting parties because she could always plug it into a 'current bush'....
I didn't find that amuzing...the rest of the family rolled on the ground...(on an aside...did you ever wonder why they are called hunting parties? why more people are not killed is beyond me...but I digress...)
The same ex and I were headed to a local faire set up to raise money for the local library...the faire was to be held at the Royal Canadian Legion for 2 reasons...one being that it was the only paved parking lot in town and two being chances were better at getting people to stop by the faire if they had to walk through it to get to the beer parlor. (no small glimpse into life in this particular country community)
As the ex and I pull into the Legion parking lot, I spy one of those cages used to 'buy time in jail for charity'...you know?....3 minutes for a dollar? ( n real life it's a type of bear cage...but it serves a purpose for the faire) I make the fatal error of exclaiming to the ex ...as I'm climbing out of the truck that "I hate those things and if ever anyone put me in one of them I'd gladly do the serious physical bodily harm" He didn't respond and I thought that I'd not been heard...which was just as well.
You will then, of course, understand my surprise when the pretend 'constabulary' show up to lock me up. For 6 hours!
The ex had in fact heard me...he got out of the truck, made a beeline for the beer parlour whereby he and his 5 brothers took up a collection amoungst their friends. So for six hours I sat in the sun in that cage, all the while watching my ex and his brothers and friends toasting me out the window of the beer parlor and get progressively pissulated and listening to the clucking and exclamations of all the other 'wives' in the community about how bad 'those boys' were, (and then patronizing me with) "but boys will be boys you know".
When released from the cage I made my way home...7 miles on a dirt road, on foot, in record time (picture the Tasmanian devil little whirlwind on a dirt road)...so much so that when one of the 'real live' police officers passed me on the road he headed directly to the pub and allowed to the ex that he 'didn't know what he'd done to piss me off this time but I was smokin my way home'
By the time he got home every single thing that man owned was in the yard. Every.Single.Thing.
And when he announced that I couldn't throw him out cos it was his house...I left, but not before attempting to set fire to his bed in the yard....and his truck (One of the first of our many breakups before the final....healthy eh?)
Rather a hardy example...but it well explains how I live with this untenable internal belief that I get to make myself act an ass...but no.one.else.no.how.no.where.never. gets to do it for me....
I'm pretty sure it started when I was a child...prior to discovering that one of my ongoing life 'issues' is dyscalculia....in my family there were periods of time where we got along well enough to have 'family time'....for my parents who both loved to play cards, often that family time involved the playing of cards and in our household that usually meant cribbage.
I never won...and I hated it...and I often got called stupid...because my particular brand of dyscalculia means that I have to put numbers into patterns for them to 'work' in my head....and at an early age I was unable to recognize the patterns in 15/2,15/4,15/6,15/8...all I could see was the need to add numbers to 15 and I couldn't do it....so my eyes would glaze over and I'd get mad....my blister (who was so much younger than I and got it right away) made the error of laughing at my struggles...I tried to feed her the cribbage board....which of course ended my inclusion in any kind of 'family time' thereafter.
As an adult I've been in the position many time to have to struggle with this 'affliction'. As recently as last spring I went to a weekend event with a large group of female friends. Mostly acquaintances, but a couple of truly close friends. Those same friends papered my hotel room with my very own sayings (I mentioned that weekend in a post last April I believe...but I didn't mention the joke)
Now one of these friends even said that they planned it the way they did so as to be able to play the joke on me but because they know I dislike surprises so much they did it in a way for me to make the discovery privately. So I know that people understand that I'm serious when I say...I'm missing that gene....and I know that in the end I appreciated the work....but still...in the dysfunction that is my brain....when I first saw it...I had to sit myself down and breathe to keep myself from going off the deep end in an unfeeling manner with my friends.
I often wonder how my life could have been different....one of my friends who has been married for 25 er so years tells as story about hiding in the closet and uttering "good evening" when her husband would return from a lengthy trip at sea....
I'd have gone to jail
I know it....
again...I say...
My life is...
brief moments of lucidity
liberally inter dispersed with
moments of abject stupidity
and radically altered by
fear and insecurity
so every body's got 'em...
me? I've got more than yer average share....
but one of my biggest I define as my lack of the 'practical joke' gene (I had this conversation with friends the other night and it bears repeating...)
I am so totally unreceptive to anything that can be construed as a practical joke…as a matter of fact…I am so unreceptive that it usually just pisses me off to a point where I become non-communicative bordering on unresponsive in an effort to keep myself out of jail...or at the very least losing friends.
I don't get the need for it. I can't play games, like card games or games on the computer (unless it's by myself) and the games people play amoungst friends and acquaintances baffle me. I don't see the need for it...and I will not partake in it....if ya got a secret...and you want it to stay a secret...
Do
Not
Tell
Me
I can't do it.
Which is why, I guess, my particular brand of truth is so painful. Cos I can't gloss things over, or make nice for niceness sake. Can't do it....missing that gene too.
Once upon a time my ex and I were living in a small town in NW ON. We lived in the country on a lake (sounds idyllic...but it wasn't...well...maybe it was sometimes...but mostly no electricity and no running water...how fucking idyllic can that be long term?) He and his brothers and sisters were all time practical jokers-case in point at one time they'd actually convinced one of the brother's wives that she could bring her hairdryer into the woods when going on hunting parties because she could always plug it into a 'current bush'....
I didn't find that amuzing...the rest of the family rolled on the ground...(on an aside...did you ever wonder why they are called hunting parties? why more people are not killed is beyond me...but I digress...)
The same ex and I were headed to a local faire set up to raise money for the local library...the faire was to be held at the Royal Canadian Legion for 2 reasons...one being that it was the only paved parking lot in town and two being chances were better at getting people to stop by the faire if they had to walk through it to get to the beer parlor. (no small glimpse into life in this particular country community)
As the ex and I pull into the Legion parking lot, I spy one of those cages used to 'buy time in jail for charity'...you know?....3 minutes for a dollar? ( n real life it's a type of bear cage...but it serves a purpose for the faire) I make the fatal error of exclaiming to the ex ...as I'm climbing out of the truck that "I hate those things and if ever anyone put me in one of them I'd gladly do the serious physical bodily harm" He didn't respond and I thought that I'd not been heard...which was just as well.
You will then, of course, understand my surprise when the pretend 'constabulary' show up to lock me up. For 6 hours!
The ex had in fact heard me...he got out of the truck, made a beeline for the beer parlour whereby he and his 5 brothers took up a collection amoungst their friends. So for six hours I sat in the sun in that cage, all the while watching my ex and his brothers and friends toasting me out the window of the beer parlor and get progressively pissulated and listening to the clucking and exclamations of all the other 'wives' in the community about how bad 'those boys' were, (and then patronizing me with) "but boys will be boys you know".
When released from the cage I made my way home...7 miles on a dirt road, on foot, in record time (picture the Tasmanian devil little whirlwind on a dirt road)...so much so that when one of the 'real live' police officers passed me on the road he headed directly to the pub and allowed to the ex that he 'didn't know what he'd done to piss me off this time but I was smokin my way home'
By the time he got home every single thing that man owned was in the yard. Every.Single.Thing.
And when he announced that I couldn't throw him out cos it was his house...I left, but not before attempting to set fire to his bed in the yard....and his truck (One of the first of our many breakups before the final....healthy eh?)
Rather a hardy example...but it well explains how I live with this untenable internal belief that I get to make myself act an ass...but no.one.else.no.how.no.where.never. gets to do it for me....
I'm pretty sure it started when I was a child...prior to discovering that one of my ongoing life 'issues' is dyscalculia....in my family there were periods of time where we got along well enough to have 'family time'....for my parents who both loved to play cards, often that family time involved the playing of cards and in our household that usually meant cribbage.
I never won...and I hated it...and I often got called stupid...because my particular brand of dyscalculia means that I have to put numbers into patterns for them to 'work' in my head....and at an early age I was unable to recognize the patterns in 15/2,15/4,15/6,15/8...all I could see was the need to add numbers to 15 and I couldn't do it....so my eyes would glaze over and I'd get mad....my blister (who was so much younger than I and got it right away) made the error of laughing at my struggles...I tried to feed her the cribbage board....which of course ended my inclusion in any kind of 'family time' thereafter.
As an adult I've been in the position many time to have to struggle with this 'affliction'. As recently as last spring I went to a weekend event with a large group of female friends. Mostly acquaintances, but a couple of truly close friends. Those same friends papered my hotel room with my very own sayings (I mentioned that weekend in a post last April I believe...but I didn't mention the joke)
Now one of these friends even said that they planned it the way they did so as to be able to play the joke on me but because they know I dislike surprises so much they did it in a way for me to make the discovery privately. So I know that people understand that I'm serious when I say...I'm missing that gene....and I know that in the end I appreciated the work....but still...in the dysfunction that is my brain....when I first saw it...I had to sit myself down and breathe to keep myself from going off the deep end in an unfeeling manner with my friends.
I often wonder how my life could have been different....one of my friends who has been married for 25 er so years tells as story about hiding in the closet and uttering "good evening" when her husband would return from a lengthy trip at sea....
I'd have gone to jail
I know it....
again...I say...
My life is...
brief moments of lucidity
liberally inter dispersed with
moments of abject stupidity
and radically altered by
fear and insecurity
Friday, January 25, 2008
the health skinny....
so here's the dirt...
it's not fibro...thank goodness...
the arm has healed enough that I should be able to ride when the Pickle is ready...
my lethargy and pain is as a result of elevated systemic infection levels (from the Crohn's) and really freakin high bloodsugar and bloodpressure...which is complicated by more lethargy right?
so he's raised my bloodpressure meds and I'm about to start eating my own body weight in odorless garlic....
the big problem is that the side effects of diabetes type 2 meds are all countra-indicitive with my current Crohn's meds (the one it took us 10 years to find and the only one to work in the 30 years since I got Crohns) and....just to put a little icing on the cake...all of the diabetes meds cause bowel issues...so...people with Crohn's are hooped....
my GP is gonna talk to my Internist to see if my body will handle some kind of diabetes meds...somehow...
my workplace is setting me up with a health advocate and occupational therapist to see if we can find someone somewhere that can help me find foods that I can eat that are better for me but won't trigger all out Crohn's attacks....who knows...I may end up on a liquid diet again (I spent the first year I was here with my intake all being liquid)
the systemic infection levels will reduce substantially if I can reduce my stress levels...HA! I said...HA!
and in amoungst all that they are gonna cut the hormones off that I've been on to level out my moods...
so...hang on to yer hats kiddies...
it's gonna be a bumpy ride...
it's not fibro...thank goodness...
the arm has healed enough that I should be able to ride when the Pickle is ready...
my lethargy and pain is as a result of elevated systemic infection levels (from the Crohn's) and really freakin high bloodsugar and bloodpressure...which is complicated by more lethargy right?
so he's raised my bloodpressure meds and I'm about to start eating my own body weight in odorless garlic....
the big problem is that the side effects of diabetes type 2 meds are all countra-indicitive with my current Crohn's meds (the one it took us 10 years to find and the only one to work in the 30 years since I got Crohns) and....just to put a little icing on the cake...all of the diabetes meds cause bowel issues...so...people with Crohn's are hooped....
my GP is gonna talk to my Internist to see if my body will handle some kind of diabetes meds...somehow...
my workplace is setting me up with a health advocate and occupational therapist to see if we can find someone somewhere that can help me find foods that I can eat that are better for me but won't trigger all out Crohn's attacks....who knows...I may end up on a liquid diet again (I spent the first year I was here with my intake all being liquid)
the systemic infection levels will reduce substantially if I can reduce my stress levels...HA! I said...HA!
and in amoungst all that they are gonna cut the hormones off that I've been on to level out my moods...
so...hang on to yer hats kiddies...
it's gonna be a bumpy ride...
Brother Bear
I want to thank you for your "postitive" spin during our discussion of my job last night...I was gettin to feeling hard done by and your reaction to the "perks" we get automatically is making me re-view my stance...
yes it sux that I'm training the person above me...and that she's new (and lied to get the job saying she had all theze technical skillz she doesn't) and it surely sux that she makes way more money than I do while I'm still mostly doin her job as well as mine....
but when step back and I look at the big picture through your eyes...the benefits that come with the job...
it all makes sense again....and I realize I should shut my gob.
sometimes I get so caught up in the rat race....that I forget why I went there in the first place...and just how "bad" the job was before this....
I'm gonna try gettin of the hamster wheel remember what life is supposed to be about~!
thanks dude...
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Chapter 37
the sound: Rush –In the Mood, Rush – Finding My Way, Rush – Anthem, Rush – Fly By Night, Rush – Limelight, Rush – Tom Sawyer, Rush - Driven, Rush – Working Man, Rush – Natural Science, Rush – A Farewell to Kings, Rush - Circumstances, Rush - XYZ, Rush – 2112, Rush – Far Cry
A waitress appears and Robert announces as we’ll have “the usual” while she slides clean ashtrays around the table.
“how the hell does he know what my usual is?” I think when she returns with several bottles of Jack followed by a young man bearing a large tray of jugs of mix.
“it’s like our own private Jack Daniels party” I mutter, which is closely followed by the thought, “what…haven’t they ever heard of vodka? er gin maybe? what if I was in a mind for tequila? Or beer?”
I pull my face away from the table and look up at the band…and then look again. I turn to Robert...”Hey!..I know them…you know what? I’ve worked with them….they’re Canadian!” I holler to be heard over the music.
Robert ignores me and leans across me to begin a conversation with the Executioner.
“Fine then”…I think and then settled back to remember the last time I’d had this band play in my bar. We’d just changed booking agents, and I’d been terrified that it’d been a mistake. I mean, I like my rock n roll the same as the next girl but these guys were just plain loud and metallic and loud and holy crap! did I mention loud?
Mike had laughed at me and called me an old woman…”yer so hung up on hillbilly blues and R n B that you’ve obviously got all yer taste in yer mouth” he’d teased “expand yer horizon’s Baby, you gotta go with the flow.”
I smiled as I remembered.
The bar had been packed…standing room only and I was beginning to worry about what would happen if the fire marshal had shown up. Mike always said he’d take care of it so Big D and I had just opened bottles of beer till I had blisters on my hand from the caps.
At that point I had a good team of women working the floor and a couple of them could stack those stubby bottles 2 trays high, which meant they’d hit the floor with 24 bottles at once. So, in the end, we’d made money.
Some of these waitresses had been working with me for years and we’d worked out a kind of cross between code and sign language for ordering so I didn’t have to hear them…but even with my earplugs in my head hurt. Course it didn’t help that the bar was located right behind and slightly to the left of the stage.
That band…they were so damn loud that I couldn’t hear myself think. I hated the racket, there didn’t seem to be anything I could find that resembled a melody and now that I was sober all of the time that metal crap just didn’t seem to fit into my head.
Anyway their version of rock n roll was a new and very contained a heavy bass that was quite a different experience from the kind of cover bands I was used to. So much so that at one point I’d just lost all patience with the noise and slipped into the storeroom behind the bar and threw the main power switch off.
As that big old bar room sunk into darkness there was what seemed like a full minute but was likely just a moment of complete and utter silence. And then the crowd started screaming and whistling. By the time the room settled into the kind of darkness that only a room without windows and lights can Mike had stepped into the storeroom with me and threw the breaker back on.
He looked down and me and shook his head smiling. “There’s 300 people out there that wanna party Baby, what’s up with you?”
“I guess I just thought it would be nice to hear myself think for a minute er two” I suggested as he pulled me into his arms.
“Well there’s that…but truly you can hear yerself think all day tomorrow woman…tonight's for making the dough” he’d murmured into my hair.
“Fine then…wrong again” I’d barked…contrary bitch that I am. I’d shoved him away and stomped outta the storeroom and back to the bar.
He’d leaned over and rubbed my back as he came out of the store room, “you are a fine judge of words but yer lacking in the musical taste Baby…you are gonna end up costing us if ya don’t lay offa this band…they are good, and if they are lucky they’ll make it big time some day.”
“ya? Well I’m paying them…so if I wanna shut them off I will!” was my retort.
Six months later we knew 2 things….one being that the reason I’d been so cranky that night was because I was already pregnant, and 2 being that the band had won their first Juno Award for “Most Promising Band” (a fact that Mike had laughed and teased me unmercifully about.)
The band on the stage before me was Rush.
A waitress appears and Robert announces as we’ll have “the usual” while she slides clean ashtrays around the table.
“how the hell does he know what my usual is?” I think when she returns with several bottles of Jack followed by a young man bearing a large tray of jugs of mix.
“it’s like our own private Jack Daniels party” I mutter, which is closely followed by the thought, “what…haven’t they ever heard of vodka? er gin maybe? what if I was in a mind for tequila? Or beer?”
I pull my face away from the table and look up at the band…and then look again. I turn to Robert...”Hey!..I know them…you know what? I’ve worked with them….they’re Canadian!” I holler to be heard over the music.
Robert ignores me and leans across me to begin a conversation with the Executioner.
“Fine then”…I think and then settled back to remember the last time I’d had this band play in my bar. We’d just changed booking agents, and I’d been terrified that it’d been a mistake. I mean, I like my rock n roll the same as the next girl but these guys were just plain loud and metallic and loud and holy crap! did I mention loud?
Mike had laughed at me and called me an old woman…”yer so hung up on hillbilly blues and R n B that you’ve obviously got all yer taste in yer mouth” he’d teased “expand yer horizon’s Baby, you gotta go with the flow.”
I smiled as I remembered.
The bar had been packed…standing room only and I was beginning to worry about what would happen if the fire marshal had shown up. Mike always said he’d take care of it so Big D and I had just opened bottles of beer till I had blisters on my hand from the caps.
At that point I had a good team of women working the floor and a couple of them could stack those stubby bottles 2 trays high, which meant they’d hit the floor with 24 bottles at once. So, in the end, we’d made money.
Some of these waitresses had been working with me for years and we’d worked out a kind of cross between code and sign language for ordering so I didn’t have to hear them…but even with my earplugs in my head hurt. Course it didn’t help that the bar was located right behind and slightly to the left of the stage.
That band…they were so damn loud that I couldn’t hear myself think. I hated the racket, there didn’t seem to be anything I could find that resembled a melody and now that I was sober all of the time that metal crap just didn’t seem to fit into my head.
Anyway their version of rock n roll was a new and very contained a heavy bass that was quite a different experience from the kind of cover bands I was used to. So much so that at one point I’d just lost all patience with the noise and slipped into the storeroom behind the bar and threw the main power switch off.
As that big old bar room sunk into darkness there was what seemed like a full minute but was likely just a moment of complete and utter silence. And then the crowd started screaming and whistling. By the time the room settled into the kind of darkness that only a room without windows and lights can Mike had stepped into the storeroom with me and threw the breaker back on.
He looked down and me and shook his head smiling. “There’s 300 people out there that wanna party Baby, what’s up with you?”
“I guess I just thought it would be nice to hear myself think for a minute er two” I suggested as he pulled me into his arms.
“Well there’s that…but truly you can hear yerself think all day tomorrow woman…tonight's for making the dough” he’d murmured into my hair.
“Fine then…wrong again” I’d barked…contrary bitch that I am. I’d shoved him away and stomped outta the storeroom and back to the bar.
He’d leaned over and rubbed my back as he came out of the store room, “you are a fine judge of words but yer lacking in the musical taste Baby…you are gonna end up costing us if ya don’t lay offa this band…they are good, and if they are lucky they’ll make it big time some day.”
“ya? Well I’m paying them…so if I wanna shut them off I will!” was my retort.
Six months later we knew 2 things….one being that the reason I’d been so cranky that night was because I was already pregnant, and 2 being that the band had won their first Juno Award for “Most Promising Band” (a fact that Mike had laughed and teased me unmercifully about.)
The band on the stage before me was Rush.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Chapter 36
the sound: Nina Simone – Feeling Good, Billlie Holliday – Lover Man, Albert King & Stevie Ray Vaughan – Stormy Monday, Janis Joplin – Summertime, Shirley Bassey – If You Go Away, Leonard Cohen – Isle of Wright, Eric Clapton – Lonely Stranger
We pass the bouncers and the gate and I am surprised by the fact that even though they’ve taken the time to confirm the house rules with us…they’ve not done anything about any of the near visible “tools of destruction” that these people are carrying. I’m more than certain all of them have boot knives, and possibly neck sheaths, but I’m also positive that more than one of them is packing a handgun.
So why bother with the rules?
We come up against an iron door that reminds me faintly of a bank vault and the man sitting on the stool beside the door is avidly chewing the end off of a large smoking cigar. He’s got shoulder length hair, a finely cropped mutton chop and beard and is wearing a red plaid shirt and jeans. It’s not till he hops down off of the bar stool that I realize he’s a dwarf.
“want in do ya?” he cajoles…he kinda cackles and pokes at a couple of the people standing before him with a cane. Not the kind of cane for walking, the kind that people use for show and maybe for fighting.
“enough with the games Barry” Robert announces from behind us and Barry apologizes with “oh…..uhhhhhhh…..didn’t see you there Robert” as he hustles and grunts to swing the door open wide, but no one tries to assist him.
As Barry pushes the door open the noise rolls over us like a physical entity. Rock n Roll and lots of it, people and lots of them.
We enter through the door single file and head up a flight of well worn wooden stairs clearly designed to create a bottle neck upon arrival.
When we reach the next level I am astounded by size and capacity of the room. There are bars offering alcohol liberally dotted around the inside of this warehouse. There are areas that look like a barroom set up with chairs and tables containing ashtrays and a cheap candle center piece. There are 3 distinct living room type areas were there are people sitting and laying on couches, there are people sitting on motorcycles, and there are people sitting on the floor and there’s literally 2 dozen pool tables.
As my gaze slowly moves to the end of the room there’s a full sized theatre stage with a rock and roll band in full swing. I glance up to see a balcony of sorts, there’s more pinball games than I have ever seen at one time in one place and there’s a bunch of those new fangled PackMan table games And there’s people, likely close to 200 give er take. Above that on the next tier there are doors…hundreds of them, like the 2nd floor walk way of Motel 6 and it occurs to me that there’s more than booze and games available here.
Robert sidles up to me, “Welcome to the Dump” he quietly announces and then takes my hand to lead me through the room, his gaggle of followers trailing along behind us.
We arrive at possibly the largest booth I have ever seen in my life and as the big red head called Snot hammers his hand on the table the dozen or so people sitting in it hasten abandon it. Rosie clears the glasses, jugs and overfull ashtrays from the table as Robert gestures for me to slide in towards the center.
In no time at all I find myself sitting between Robert and a man I vaguely remember being named the Executioner. The booth is a large wide oval shape with the back being just high enough for all these tall guys to lean back and prop their arms on. Me? I can just barely peer over the back while seated and I realize that this booth is located about mid room in one of the bar areas facing the stage.
I look about to consider this is likely one of the best seats in the house as far as the bands are concerned. But what happened to the age old biker’s rule of sitting with your back to a wall? I feel strangely unprotected in spite of sitting at a table with more than a dozen people ranging from 6 ft to 6 ft 6.
Monday, January 21, 2008
WOLF MOON
The fearsome nocturnal animal represents the "night" of the year. Wolves were rarely seen in England after the 12th century.To each Lunar month the ancients assigned a name in accordance with the nature of the activity that took place at that time.
The Moon of deepest Winter is the Wolf Moon, and its name recalls a time when our ancestors gathered close around the hearth fire as the silence of the falling snow was pierced by the howling of wolves. Driven by hunger, wolves came closer to villages than at any other time of the year, and may have occasionally killed a human being in order to survive. The wolf in northern countries was at one time so feared that it became the image of Fenris, the creature of destruction that supposedly will devour the world at the end of time.
The Christian version of the myth would leave it at that, but the myth continues. Like the wolf in the fairy tale of Little Red Riding Hood, which preserves the full idea of the myth but is used only to frighten children, the wolf is slain; and the grandmother, like the world, is brought forth once more.
As the light of the new-born year slowly increases and the Wolf Moon waxes full, it is a good time to look back upon that which has just ended and learn from our experiences.
Bid the past farewell and let it go in order to receive the year that has just been born. Learning to let go of that which we would cling to is one of the greatest secrets of magick.
text from The Witches Way
picture from Michael Bohbot Illustrations
Friday, January 18, 2008
Chapter 35
the sound: Stevie Ray Vaughn – The House is Rocking, Eric Clapton – Groanin the Blues, BBKing – Blues Boys Tune, Gary Moore – Still Got the Blues, Nina Simone – Don’t Let me be Misunderstood, Sarah Brightman – Gloomy Sunday, John Lee Hooker – Healer Man, Rory Gallagher – Bullfrog Blues
We ride across the field, around the track and out a back gate to a dirt road. People were “yehawing” and there was a sense of excitement like we were going to a party. I sit rigidly on the back of Jed’s bike trying desperately to have no part of me touch him…no small feat on a honked up Sportster.
In the distance I can see the unmistakable glow of early morning and I’m wondering just where the hell we’d be going at this time of the day, and what would possibly make these people have such a sense of excitement over going to a dump?
I decide that there’s truly nothing I can do about it so I might just as well enjoy the ride and just as I’m thinking that it would have been nice to have a pair of glasses on we leave the dirt road and hit taramac. The sun peeks out above the skyline and I realize that we are headed towards the city.
Some hour later we are weaving our way through streets in downtown St. Paul and Jed has loosened me up enough to deign to allow him point out some sights to me. We are riding next to LittleMan and Wonder Woman and I can see fresh blood on the bandage on his arm and she looks a little worse for the wear.
Eventually we come to a back street that closely resembles a city alley and turn down towards what looks to be a dead end. As we get closer to the dead end I realize that it’s a huge set of garage doors set in the wall of what looks to be a warehouse. And I mean huge, big enough to drive two transports through side by side.
As we approach the doors swing open and we all travel through the doors and down a ramp to underground parking. I’m astonished to see 90 or 100 motorcycles there and as our group shuts down their bikes I realize that cacophony I hear is not motors but a band. A very loud rockin roll and blues band.
After parking and dismount we all walk towards a door sized gate. I look around and don’t see Rosie and Boomer and BarnYard and WonderWoman leans over to tell me that “cars have to park outside”
“Where the hell are we?” I ask…thinking again that arriving at a bar at the crack of dawn is just a little out of the ordinary for me these days…unless of course it’s for inventory.
“WonderWoman, LittleMan and Jed all announce “the Dump” at once and then laugh at themselves while looking at me like I should really know what they are talking about.
As we enter through the first gate there are 2 of the largest ‘bouncers’ I have ever seen in my life standing legs akimbo arms crossed over their chests and the blonde one stops us as a group and points above his head to a sign that bears the “House Rule”.
“Thou shall not die inside the building” is blazoned in large black script on the clean white sign.
The blonde guy leans towards us and nods knowingly …”we ain’t shittin ya…nobody dies here….take that shit outside if it happens…cos you know it’s gonna…we don’t’ care how or why…just.not.here.” he underscores the last words as if he’s had this talk with these people before.
A couple of the guys chuckle uncomfortably and Robert turns and raises a finger in warning “a rule is a rule” he announces.
“Well fine then,” I think,” what’s your fucking rule about letting me go home soon?”
We ride across the field, around the track and out a back gate to a dirt road. People were “yehawing” and there was a sense of excitement like we were going to a party. I sit rigidly on the back of Jed’s bike trying desperately to have no part of me touch him…no small feat on a honked up Sportster.
In the distance I can see the unmistakable glow of early morning and I’m wondering just where the hell we’d be going at this time of the day, and what would possibly make these people have such a sense of excitement over going to a dump?
I decide that there’s truly nothing I can do about it so I might just as well enjoy the ride and just as I’m thinking that it would have been nice to have a pair of glasses on we leave the dirt road and hit taramac. The sun peeks out above the skyline and I realize that we are headed towards the city.
Some hour later we are weaving our way through streets in downtown St. Paul and Jed has loosened me up enough to deign to allow him point out some sights to me. We are riding next to LittleMan and Wonder Woman and I can see fresh blood on the bandage on his arm and she looks a little worse for the wear.
Eventually we come to a back street that closely resembles a city alley and turn down towards what looks to be a dead end. As we get closer to the dead end I realize that it’s a huge set of garage doors set in the wall of what looks to be a warehouse. And I mean huge, big enough to drive two transports through side by side.
As we approach the doors swing open and we all travel through the doors and down a ramp to underground parking. I’m astonished to see 90 or 100 motorcycles there and as our group shuts down their bikes I realize that cacophony I hear is not motors but a band. A very loud rockin roll and blues band.
After parking and dismount we all walk towards a door sized gate. I look around and don’t see Rosie and Boomer and BarnYard and WonderWoman leans over to tell me that “cars have to park outside”
“Where the hell are we?” I ask…thinking again that arriving at a bar at the crack of dawn is just a little out of the ordinary for me these days…unless of course it’s for inventory.
“WonderWoman, LittleMan and Jed all announce “the Dump” at once and then laugh at themselves while looking at me like I should really know what they are talking about.
As we enter through the first gate there are 2 of the largest ‘bouncers’ I have ever seen in my life standing legs akimbo arms crossed over their chests and the blonde one stops us as a group and points above his head to a sign that bears the “House Rule”.
“Thou shall not die inside the building” is blazoned in large black script on the clean white sign.
The blonde guy leans towards us and nods knowingly …”we ain’t shittin ya…nobody dies here….take that shit outside if it happens…cos you know it’s gonna…we don’t’ care how or why…just.not.here.” he underscores the last words as if he’s had this talk with these people before.
A couple of the guys chuckle uncomfortably and Robert turns and raises a finger in warning “a rule is a rule” he announces.
“Well fine then,” I think,” what’s your fucking rule about letting me go home soon?”
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Chapter 34
[the re-write]
the sound: Gary Wright – Dream Weaver, Rush – Closer to the Heart, Steve Miller Band – The Stake, Genesis - The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, The Animals – House of the Rising Sun, Billy Paul – War of the Gods, The Byrds – 8 Miles High, The Doors – Riders on the Storm
Just when I get to the point where I am sure my back will break, or we will fall over which will break me in half for sure. The door opens and Rosie growls, “Jed! What the fuck do you think you are doing?”
Jed stops moving, and with a small shudder lets me go to fall to the floor.
“aw come on Rosie…what’s a little fun between friends?”
Rosie begins slowly and quietly, her voice rises slightly as she builds up a head of steam.
“You get your loppy arse outta this room…you were told to knock on the door and ask her if she wanted to come to the Dump.
Nothing more.
What do you suppose would have happened to you had it been Robert coming to investigate? Do ya suppose you’d be standin here discussin friendship then asshole????”
“she cussed me out Rosie, she’s gotta learn.”
“Ya she likely does…but don’t you suppose Robert’ll be the one doing the teachin you moron? Now get the fuck outta here!”
I lay on the floor where I’d fallen, watching this exchange with some sort of delayed reaction. As soon as Rosie told him to get going I started to shake and by the time she turned back to me I was trembling and crying like the scared fool I was.
Rosie reach out to me and then stopped herself just before she touched me. “Clean yerself up and get dressed little girl…we’re going to the Dump” she said as she turned and headed out the door.
By the time I did just that she was back with my helmet and a leather jacket, holding it out for me to shrug it on. I looked at her and she said, “it gets cool on these roads in the night”. She cocked her head to follow her and we headed out the door through the living room and out the front door. As we got closer to the door I heard the unmistakable sound of motorcycles running and found a group of 15 Harleys followed by BarnYard and Boomer in the convertible.
The first thought that crossed my mind when I realized that Robert was in the lead was that his big fully dressed bike looked exactly like a dinky toy under him. He turned and looked at Rosie who lead me over to Jed’s bike…”you’ll ride with Jed and there’ll be no more trouble” she advised.
As Rosie ran to jump in the backseat of the car, Jed turned to look at me and I saw the beginning of a fat lip like someone had hit him. “she’s enough trouble all on her own” he muttered as I swung my leg over the backrest to settle on the pee-pad…thinking “hey…it’s not like I get a vote.”
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
there's been a pause
in our story...
and I know that I've been
valiantly battling between
my need to get it out
and my need to share
I may have even mentioned that
once er maybe even twice
in here....
*ahem*
so ya know how sometimes
ya bounce an idea around in yer punkin
till it's all bruised and mottled
and yer still are no closer to the answer
than ya were when ya started?
well yesterday I got an email from a friend
who's opinion I respect
and who is also
a reader....
it was titled "Oh BTW"
and it said:
"MHO is that maybe chapter 34 needs to be written
– and then printed
– and then put in a safe place.
The lead in doesn’t leave me thinking
that it’s gonna be a story
that needs/should be “shared”
unless it’s for your own personal therapy"
well then
having read this email
and
having sat back and reviewed
from a less "immersed"
standpoint
I think said writer is correct
so
Chapter 34 will undergo
a re-write
that will fit with the story
and allow me to move on
who knows
maybe there'll be
an addendum
some day
but for now
I'm done with being
stuck in the mire
that's known as my mind
and moving on!
and I know that I've been
valiantly battling between
my need to get it out
and my need to share
I may have even mentioned that
once er maybe even twice
in here....
*ahem*
so ya know how sometimes
ya bounce an idea around in yer punkin
till it's all bruised and mottled
and yer still are no closer to the answer
than ya were when ya started?
well yesterday I got an email from a friend
who's opinion I respect
and who is also
a reader....
it was titled "Oh BTW"
and it said:
"MHO is that maybe chapter 34 needs to be written
– and then printed
– and then put in a safe place.
The lead in doesn’t leave me thinking
that it’s gonna be a story
that needs/should be “shared”
unless it’s for your own personal therapy"
well then
having read this email
and
having sat back and reviewed
from a less "immersed"
standpoint
I think said writer is correct
so
Chapter 34 will undergo
a re-write
that will fit with the story
and allow me to move on
who knows
maybe there'll be
an addendum
some day
but for now
I'm done with being
stuck in the mire
that's known as my mind
and moving on!
Monday, January 14, 2008
Be careful what you wish for
a blogger I read
opened herself up large
to her public
by making them aware
of something
she thinks is a good idea
and for the most part
people are cautiously optimistic
but this particular blogger
specialises in the funny side of life
on her blog
and this "good idea"
isn't funny
it's serious....
so as a result she's experienced
some rather minor tarring
and feathering
at the hands of her public
(course it'd be minor in my eyes but likely major in hers...)
a couple o things come to mind for me:
1..having been on the receiving end of people that don't approve of my thoughts opinions or wisdom on more than one occasion I know that ya gotta be pretty thick skinned not to take personally everything that people say to or about you it's hard enough when it comes from a friend.....but when it comes from a cyber stranger it does not make it less painful in fact it may be more painful cos you don't really know if that person's intent was to aid or injure.....if anything it's because we as human beings seem to need to "be involved". We tack emotions to our cyber friends and when they don't turn out to be the same "kind" of people we attached those emotions to...we get our feathers ruffled, er knickers in a knot, er however you want to say it....
2...Anonymous comments (we've had this conversation here before) are for gutless, spineless, un-integral people (don't hold back now Wyz...tell us how you really feel!) that are fulla themselves but not really able to stand up and identify themselves and stand behind what they say! I get the whole bit about not being a blogger member so you can't sign in...but dammit - make it anonymous with your nickname er sommat in the post so it doesn't just look like yer out there taking gleeful shots at someone who's put their heart on their sleeve! or so it doesn't look like yer a gutless, spineless un-integral asswipe!
3. opinions are like assholes....every body's got one. As I said to the blogger in question..."you just continue to do what you believe to be right for you....and the rest of the world can do so or pound sand...it's a win\win"
4. I've done a lot of writing in the past few days to keep from having to write Chapter 34 and going forward with this part of my life story...I've told you things lots of my nearest and dearest friends were unaware of and that's been good for me
but I've actually been losing sleep over the reliving and the telling of what goes forward from here..which is why I'm not at work today - no sleep last night (on an aside...I think that a 4 day work week would be a good law to have passed...same amount of money...less time in the office...no?)....I'm still not sure that I can or will or want to put onto "paper" the events as they occurred...I've examined it and I understand that my lack of motivation is not that I think you will think less of me...I am no longer a victim, I understand that, but what I am is reluctant to write it as the act of writing it, while cathartic, is also painful on levels only one who has been a victim will understand.
be patient faithful readers....I remain...a work in progress.
***added a couple o hours later***
and if ya ain't depressed to start with...daytime tv is enough to throw you over the damn edge!
~I'm just sayin!~
opened herself up large
to her public
by making them aware
of something
she thinks is a good idea
and for the most part
people are cautiously optimistic
but this particular blogger
specialises in the funny side of life
on her blog
and this "good idea"
isn't funny
it's serious....
so as a result she's experienced
some rather minor tarring
and feathering
at the hands of her public
(course it'd be minor in my eyes but likely major in hers...)
a couple o things come to mind for me:
1..having been on the receiving end of people that don't approve of my thoughts opinions or wisdom on more than one occasion I know that ya gotta be pretty thick skinned not to take personally everything that people say to or about you it's hard enough when it comes from a friend.....but when it comes from a cyber stranger it does not make it less painful in fact it may be more painful cos you don't really know if that person's intent was to aid or injure.....if anything it's because we as human beings seem to need to "be involved". We tack emotions to our cyber friends and when they don't turn out to be the same "kind" of people we attached those emotions to...we get our feathers ruffled, er knickers in a knot, er however you want to say it....
2...Anonymous comments (we've had this conversation here before) are for gutless, spineless, un-integral people (don't hold back now Wyz...tell us how you really feel!) that are fulla themselves but not really able to stand up and identify themselves and stand behind what they say! I get the whole bit about not being a blogger member so you can't sign in...but dammit - make it anonymous with your nickname er sommat in the post so it doesn't just look like yer out there taking gleeful shots at someone who's put their heart on their sleeve! or so it doesn't look like yer a gutless, spineless un-integral asswipe!
3. opinions are like assholes....every body's got one. As I said to the blogger in question..."you just continue to do what you believe to be right for you....and the rest of the world can do so or pound sand...it's a win\win"
4. I've done a lot of writing in the past few days to keep from having to write Chapter 34 and going forward with this part of my life story...I've told you things lots of my nearest and dearest friends were unaware of and that's been good for me
but I've actually been losing sleep over the reliving and the telling of what goes forward from here..which is why I'm not at work today - no sleep last night (on an aside...I think that a 4 day work week would be a good law to have passed...same amount of money...less time in the office...no?)....I'm still not sure that I can or will or want to put onto "paper" the events as they occurred...I've examined it and I understand that my lack of motivation is not that I think you will think less of me...I am no longer a victim, I understand that, but what I am is reluctant to write it as the act of writing it, while cathartic, is also painful on levels only one who has been a victim will understand.
be patient faithful readers....I remain...a work in progress.
***added a couple o hours later***
and if ya ain't depressed to start with...daytime tv is enough to throw you over the damn edge!
~I'm just sayin!~
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Life...
it really takes character
to understand it
eh?
I've spent the most part
of the last two days
on the internet
consoling friends from distances
far and wide
over the loss of our riding/internet friend
GreyBeard
and while doing that I've also
watched almost all
of season 1
of StarGate...SG1
just for shits n giggles...
the thing I liked about GreyBeard
was his readiness to accept people
for what they are
not what we wanted them to be
himself included
that acceptance of humanity
good, bad or indifferent
in hopes of learning from it
was a blessing he bestowed upon
or taught many of us....
he wasn't a superhero
he was human
and he knew it...
but he tried
and what more can ya ask for?
the thing I like about SG1
is that every episode comes with a moral
a small reminder of the state
of the human condition
not so very different
than thinking about my friend GreyBeard
life
and the remembrance
that it really takes character
to understand it
yet another lesson learned
to understand it
eh?
I've spent the most part
of the last two days
on the internet
consoling friends from distances
far and wide
over the loss of our riding/internet friend
GreyBeard
and while doing that I've also
watched almost all
of season 1
of StarGate...SG1
just for shits n giggles...
the thing I liked about GreyBeard
was his readiness to accept people
for what they are
not what we wanted them to be
himself included
that acceptance of humanity
good, bad or indifferent
in hopes of learning from it
was a blessing he bestowed upon
or taught many of us....
he wasn't a superhero
he was human
and he knew it...
but he tried
and what more can ya ask for?
the thing I like about SG1
is that every episode comes with a moral
a small reminder of the state
of the human condition
not so very different
than thinking about my friend GreyBeard
life
and the remembrance
that it really takes character
to understand it
yet another lesson learned
Saturday, January 12, 2008
If I Can Dream....
©greybeard There must be lights burning brighter somewhere
Got to be birds flying higher in a sky more blue
If I can dream of a better land
Where all my brothers walk hand in hand
Tell me why, oh why, oh why can't my dream come true
There must be peace and understanding sometime
Strong winds of promise that will blow away
All the doubt and fearIf I can dream of a warmer sun
Where hope keeps shining on everyone
Tell me why, oh why, oh why won't that sun appear
We're lost in a cloud
With too much rain
We're trapped in a world
That's troubled with pain
But as long as a man
Has the strength to dream
He can redeem his soul and fly
Deep in my heart there's a trembling question
Still I am sure that the answer gonna come somehow
Out there in the dark, there's a beckoning candle
And while I can think, while I can talk
While I can stand, while I can walk
While I can dream, please let my dream
Come true, right now
Let it come true right now
R.I.P
GreyBeard
Chapter 33
the sound: Debussy claire de lune, Wilhelm Kempff plays Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata mvt. 1
I’m sunk deep in the bubbles when I hear a noise in the next room. I start to rise up and realize that should I do so it will make me stand naked but for some bubbles should someone enter the room. My eyes frantically search the room for a robe but realize I’ve left it in the next room.
“who…who’s there?” I stammer.
There’s no answer.
I wait for what seems like forever and don’t hear anything else so I climb out of the tub and wrap a towel around myself tiptoeing to the door to see who’s in the next room.
No one.
I hurry to the bed grabbing the flannel dressing gown and begin to pull it over my head when a man’s voice comes out of the walk-in “Bout time”
I clutch the towel and squeak startled.
I turn to run back into the bathroom clutching the towel and flannel dressing gown half on/half off. The towel drops and I am left hung up in the dressing gown, my face covered but little else as I hear a deep chuckle from the direction of the walk-in.
I struggle to get the gown over my wet skin and only succeed in knocking the combs that had been holding my hair out causing all of my hair to join the tangle around my shoulders. I begin to cuss in the manner for which I have become famous.
“Jesus Christ woman – could you make anything else so easy look so hard?”
I spin around to face the man now standing at the foot of the bed. My gaze runs up and down taking in that he’s over 6 foot tall, that he’s got the proverbial “handlebar” mustache, that he’s lean and muscular and has thick dark hair. He’s leaned against one of the four big wooden posts at the foot of the bed, just on his shoulder, faded denim covered arms crossed over his chest and one blue jean leg crossed over the other so that it almost looks like his worn cowboy boots are on the wrong foot.
And he’s smug. I can just see it.
“who the fuck are you?” I demand, angry now that I think he’s laughing at me, and I get to watch all the laughter leach out of his eyes as he barks a quick response:
“Tone bitch! Tone!”
Ever the faulty judge of character I snap back waspishly “fuck you!” and turn to stomp off into the bathroom, thinking to myself, “just who the hell does he think he is?”
He crosses the room to me in one long stride and grips my arm, swinging me around to face him. “What did I just tell you?” he asks as his embrace full on encompasses me and for a moment I am afraid that my arm will snap.
But once again, with the grand judge of character, “fuck you” I respond, and begin to push against his chest in an effort of get away from him.
He chuckles again, but this time it scares me, it sounds dark, not mysterious but scary. He says almost to himself, “this is gonna be more fun than I thought” as he winds his hand into my hair and pulls my head back, “go ahead and struggle Baby…I like a good fight.”
My struggle to escape becomes earnest and the harder I try the tighter his grip gets in my hair till I’m almost bent backwards at the waist, with him bent over me. I can feel my pulse in my temples and neck and I can feel him pressed against me from my thighs all the way to my breasts. I just know I’m gonna hurt tomorrow except now I’m afraid the hurt might not come from my daily hangover, nor from the long trip here , nor even from being bent too far back at the waist.
Now I’m afraid for that the hurt might just come from something else.
I’m sunk deep in the bubbles when I hear a noise in the next room. I start to rise up and realize that should I do so it will make me stand naked but for some bubbles should someone enter the room. My eyes frantically search the room for a robe but realize I’ve left it in the next room.
“who…who’s there?” I stammer.
There’s no answer.
I wait for what seems like forever and don’t hear anything else so I climb out of the tub and wrap a towel around myself tiptoeing to the door to see who’s in the next room.
No one.
I hurry to the bed grabbing the flannel dressing gown and begin to pull it over my head when a man’s voice comes out of the walk-in “Bout time”
I clutch the towel and squeak startled.
I turn to run back into the bathroom clutching the towel and flannel dressing gown half on/half off. The towel drops and I am left hung up in the dressing gown, my face covered but little else as I hear a deep chuckle from the direction of the walk-in.
I struggle to get the gown over my wet skin and only succeed in knocking the combs that had been holding my hair out causing all of my hair to join the tangle around my shoulders. I begin to cuss in the manner for which I have become famous.
“Jesus Christ woman – could you make anything else so easy look so hard?”
I spin around to face the man now standing at the foot of the bed. My gaze runs up and down taking in that he’s over 6 foot tall, that he’s got the proverbial “handlebar” mustache, that he’s lean and muscular and has thick dark hair. He’s leaned against one of the four big wooden posts at the foot of the bed, just on his shoulder, faded denim covered arms crossed over his chest and one blue jean leg crossed over the other so that it almost looks like his worn cowboy boots are on the wrong foot.
And he’s smug. I can just see it.
“who the fuck are you?” I demand, angry now that I think he’s laughing at me, and I get to watch all the laughter leach out of his eyes as he barks a quick response:
“Tone bitch! Tone!”
Ever the faulty judge of character I snap back waspishly “fuck you!” and turn to stomp off into the bathroom, thinking to myself, “just who the hell does he think he is?”
He crosses the room to me in one long stride and grips my arm, swinging me around to face him. “What did I just tell you?” he asks as his embrace full on encompasses me and for a moment I am afraid that my arm will snap.
But once again, with the grand judge of character, “fuck you” I respond, and begin to push against his chest in an effort of get away from him.
He chuckles again, but this time it scares me, it sounds dark, not mysterious but scary. He says almost to himself, “this is gonna be more fun than I thought” as he winds his hand into my hair and pulls my head back, “go ahead and struggle Baby…I like a good fight.”
My struggle to escape becomes earnest and the harder I try the tighter his grip gets in my hair till I’m almost bent backwards at the waist, with him bent over me. I can feel my pulse in my temples and neck and I can feel him pressed against me from my thighs all the way to my breasts. I just know I’m gonna hurt tomorrow except now I’m afraid the hurt might not come from my daily hangover, nor from the long trip here , nor even from being bent too far back at the waist.
Now I’m afraid for that the hurt might just come from something else.
Friday, January 11, 2008
mp3 hell
ok
maybe I ain't a freakin genius after all
a week ago I posted that I was missing this software
so for a week I've been fighting for hours ever frickin day with this 30GB mp3 player and I was pretty much convinced that I should buy an ipod (this one is Creative and was a gift) cos what I had here was a 399.00 paper weight...the software that I'd installed a year ago had corrupted...
I've worked with their help desk...loaded patches, uploaded software on line, reloaded installed and unistalled till the freakin cows come home...and no such luck - tried over and over until the wee hours with no luck....
and work has become unbearable...I've actually had to listen to Hysteria's voice all week long....I'm like ready to slit my own throat!
tonight I found the software....tucked in a box in the closet (I was actually looking for my slippers...so who the hell knows how it got there) *sigh* prolly the good fairy...aka the VOD
I reloaded the software from the cd with no luck....tried to uninstall the corrupted software again and no luck...so I'm at the 6th day of "setup.exe is experiencing difficulties and will have to close now...sorry for the inconvenience"
"fuck off with the polite...and fix my damn software!"
then in a moment of abject "I don't shive a git anymore" I hit the sync button in windows media player without realizing that my paper weight was plugged in to the computer...
presto chango....it's starts syncing!
I'll be buggered!
keep yer fingers crossed kiddies
I really don't have money for a new mp3 player....
maybe I ain't a freakin genius after all
a week ago I posted that I was missing this software
so for a week I've been fighting for hours ever frickin day with this 30GB mp3 player and I was pretty much convinced that I should buy an ipod (this one is Creative and was a gift) cos what I had here was a 399.00 paper weight...the software that I'd installed a year ago had corrupted...
I've worked with their help desk...loaded patches, uploaded software on line, reloaded installed and unistalled till the freakin cows come home...and no such luck - tried over and over until the wee hours with no luck....
and work has become unbearable...I've actually had to listen to Hysteria's voice all week long....I'm like ready to slit my own throat!
tonight I found the software....tucked in a box in the closet (I was actually looking for my slippers...so who the hell knows how it got there) *sigh* prolly the good fairy...aka the VOD
I reloaded the software from the cd with no luck....tried to uninstall the corrupted software again and no luck...so I'm at the 6th day of "setup.exe is experiencing difficulties and will have to close now...sorry for the inconvenience"
"fuck off with the polite...and fix my damn software!"
then in a moment of abject "I don't shive a git anymore" I hit the sync button in windows media player without realizing that my paper weight was plugged in to the computer...
presto chango....it's starts syncing!
I'll be buggered!
keep yer fingers crossed kiddies
I really don't have money for a new mp3 player....
News Flash
I just found out
that the woman that they hired in this office
to take the place of the collegue that left
that can't spell
write a legible letter or email
doesn't know how to use MS Word or Excel
or how to build a webpage
is making $10,00.00 more a year
than I am
can we say
grrrrrrrrrrr?
sometimes this business of being an
evolved human being
sticks in my craw
what I'd really like to do
is tell them to shove their job
where the sun don't shine
and watch Hysteria twist and burn
but
I also know
that I am nothing
without a medical plan
fuck eh?
that the woman that they hired in this office
to take the place of the collegue that left
that can't spell
write a legible letter or email
doesn't know how to use MS Word or Excel
or how to build a webpage
is making $10,00.00 more a year
than I am
can we say
grrrrrrrrrrr?
sometimes this business of being an
evolved human being
sticks in my craw
what I'd really like to do
is tell them to shove their job
where the sun don't shine
and watch Hysteria twist and burn
but
I also know
that I am nothing
without a medical plan
fuck eh?
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Chapter 32
the sound: Darren Hayes – Insatiable, Neneh Cherry,Youssou N'Dour-7 Seconds, Gary Jules – Mad World, James Blunt – Cry, Imogene Heap - Hide and Seek, Mazzy Star – Into Dust, City and Colour – Coming Home, Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah
Robert comes wordlessly back to his chair and settles in. I peek at him through my eyelashes and catch him looking at me from the corner of his eye he face almost devoid of expression. Visions of white slavery and rape race through my mind and I begin to feel even more panicked.
I hear a noise and look up to see Boomer heading back to the barn with the ammunitions belts, torches and guns in his arms. He disappears inside and the music begins again. I look up to realize that Robert is once again standing and is quietly talking to Rosie.
He turns and walks away as Rosie beckons me to come with her head. I hesitate watching Robert walk towards the barn and she gestures again. I get up and she leads me back to the house.
Rosie’s hands are covered in blood and she stops at a tap on the way to the house and once again I am full of questions.
“what the fuck was that?” I demand through teeth clenched again.
“it is what it is Baby, you get used to it or you go away” she sighs and shakes her head.
“get used to it?
Get fucking used to it?
Are you insane?” I begin to shout…
Rosie grabs my face and pulls me close to hers…”shut your mouth little girl…you are gonna get yerself in a world of hurt if you don’t just shut the fuck up and watch – pay attention dammit!”
She pushes me towards the house and I stumble ahead of her. Once inside she takes me back to the bedroom and tells me that I need to “relax” and she’ll she me tomorrow. She closes the door as she leaves and I hear the unmistakable sound of it locking.
I realize again that I am shaking like a leaf. I stand for a minute with my forehead against the door and then slowly turn around reaching into my pocket for a cigarette.
As I light up I look about taking in the room. I see that in my absence someone has made the bed, someone has also turned it down for the night and laid a nightdress out for me. I almost smile as I realize that the nightdress is just my style…flannel and long, and then it occurs to me that these people know way too much about me.
I peer about as if there is someone there, but there is not. I close my eyes and relive the scene I’ve just witnessed outside.
I decide that the only answer is to make the best of where I am, so I head for the bathroom to finish my smoke and run a bubble bath.
Robert comes wordlessly back to his chair and settles in. I peek at him through my eyelashes and catch him looking at me from the corner of his eye he face almost devoid of expression. Visions of white slavery and rape race through my mind and I begin to feel even more panicked.
I hear a noise and look up to see Boomer heading back to the barn with the ammunitions belts, torches and guns in his arms. He disappears inside and the music begins again. I look up to realize that Robert is once again standing and is quietly talking to Rosie.
He turns and walks away as Rosie beckons me to come with her head. I hesitate watching Robert walk towards the barn and she gestures again. I get up and she leads me back to the house.
Rosie’s hands are covered in blood and she stops at a tap on the way to the house and once again I am full of questions.
“what the fuck was that?” I demand through teeth clenched again.
“it is what it is Baby, you get used to it or you go away” she sighs and shakes her head.
“get used to it?
Get fucking used to it?
Are you insane?” I begin to shout…
Rosie grabs my face and pulls me close to hers…”shut your mouth little girl…you are gonna get yerself in a world of hurt if you don’t just shut the fuck up and watch – pay attention dammit!”
She pushes me towards the house and I stumble ahead of her. Once inside she takes me back to the bedroom and tells me that I need to “relax” and she’ll she me tomorrow. She closes the door as she leaves and I hear the unmistakable sound of it locking.
I realize again that I am shaking like a leaf. I stand for a minute with my forehead against the door and then slowly turn around reaching into my pocket for a cigarette.
As I light up I look about taking in the room. I see that in my absence someone has made the bed, someone has also turned it down for the night and laid a nightdress out for me. I almost smile as I realize that the nightdress is just my style…flannel and long, and then it occurs to me that these people know way too much about me.
I peer about as if there is someone there, but there is not. I close my eyes and relive the scene I’ve just witnessed outside.
I decide that the only answer is to make the best of where I am, so I head for the bathroom to finish my smoke and run a bubble bath.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Chapter 31
[....ok kiddies....it's back - for now....Wyz]
the sound: Blues Images – Ride Captain Ride, Norman Greenbaum – Spirit in the Sky, The Assembled Multitude – Overture From Tommy, Ides of March - Vehicle, Coven – One Tin Soldier (The Legend of Billy Jack), Ocean – Put Your Hand in the Hand, Les Crane - Desiderata
The sound of bikes coming to a stop break into my reverie, I hear someone quietly sobbing and I look up to see Wonder Woman collapsed at my feet in tears.
For a moment I’d completely forgot where I was and what’s been going on.
I jump to my feet and look to the track, Robert is down offa his rock and he is moving towards the pile of motorcycle and rider that has gone down on the far top side of the track. Rosie, Boomer and BarnYard hot foot it to catch up and I see that Rosie is hauling the first aid kit and Boomer and BarnYard have relit their torches.
All around them bikes are coming to a stop.
I watch in sick fascination as Robert reaches the downed rider. I see him kneel and pick the man up by the shoulders holding him against his chest. His lips are moving.
I squint to see that it is Little Man and that he seems to be moving. I reach down and grab Wonder Woman’s arm as she sobs against my leg.
“Look look look! He’s moving!” as I force her head up to see.
Slowly the sobs recede as we both watch Rosie check Little Man out. Robert stands and nods, pulling Little Man staggering to his feet. I watch these two tall men stand side by side, Little Man slightly leaning towards Robert as Robert raises Little Man’s arm over his head and roars “Brother!”
All around the campsite I hear whooping and howl’s of agreement. “Brother” resounds from all directions as Rosie begins to cut away Little Man’s left sleeve revealing a blood stained mess.
Robert takes a long pull on his bottle and hands it to Little Man who takes a pull and turns an odd shade of white. Little Man is surrounded by men slapping him on the back and holding him up as Robert lets go and walks back past the big flat rock towards the fire.
At a nod from Robert, Wonder Woman scrambles to her feet knocking me back into my chair in the process and races across the field to Little Man.
I look up at Robert walking toward me and the fire and I think to myself yet again...”you are seriously fucked here girl, you need to get you gone”. I realize I’m shaking and I pull my head down chin on my chest as if I’m asleep.
the sound: Blues Images – Ride Captain Ride, Norman Greenbaum – Spirit in the Sky, The Assembled Multitude – Overture From Tommy, Ides of March - Vehicle, Coven – One Tin Soldier (The Legend of Billy Jack), Ocean – Put Your Hand in the Hand, Les Crane - Desiderata
The sound of bikes coming to a stop break into my reverie, I hear someone quietly sobbing and I look up to see Wonder Woman collapsed at my feet in tears.
For a moment I’d completely forgot where I was and what’s been going on.
I jump to my feet and look to the track, Robert is down offa his rock and he is moving towards the pile of motorcycle and rider that has gone down on the far top side of the track. Rosie, Boomer and BarnYard hot foot it to catch up and I see that Rosie is hauling the first aid kit and Boomer and BarnYard have relit their torches.
All around them bikes are coming to a stop.
I watch in sick fascination as Robert reaches the downed rider. I see him kneel and pick the man up by the shoulders holding him against his chest. His lips are moving.
I squint to see that it is Little Man and that he seems to be moving. I reach down and grab Wonder Woman’s arm as she sobs against my leg.
“Look look look! He’s moving!” as I force her head up to see.
Slowly the sobs recede as we both watch Rosie check Little Man out. Robert stands and nods, pulling Little Man staggering to his feet. I watch these two tall men stand side by side, Little Man slightly leaning towards Robert as Robert raises Little Man’s arm over his head and roars “Brother!”
All around the campsite I hear whooping and howl’s of agreement. “Brother” resounds from all directions as Rosie begins to cut away Little Man’s left sleeve revealing a blood stained mess.
Robert takes a long pull on his bottle and hands it to Little Man who takes a pull and turns an odd shade of white. Little Man is surrounded by men slapping him on the back and holding him up as Robert lets go and walks back past the big flat rock towards the fire.
At a nod from Robert, Wonder Woman scrambles to her feet knocking me back into my chair in the process and races across the field to Little Man.
I look up at Robert walking toward me and the fire and I think to myself yet again...”you are seriously fucked here girl, you need to get you gone”. I realize I’m shaking and I pull my head down chin on my chest as if I’m asleep.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Dear Mr President
PINK LYRICS
"Dear Mr. President"
(feat. Indigo Girls)
Dear Mr. President,
Come take a walk with me.
Let's pretend we're just two people and
You're not better than me.
I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly.
What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?
Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?
What do you feel when you look in the mirror?
Are you proud?
How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eyeAnd tell me why?
Dear Mr. President,
Were you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
How can you say
No child is left behind?
We're not dumb and we're not blind.
They're all sitting in your cells
While you pave the road to hell.
What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?
And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?
I can only imagine what the first lady has to say
You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine
How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye?
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Minimum wage with a baby on the way
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Building a bed out of a cardboard box
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Hard workHard work
You don't know nothing 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
Oh
How do you sleep at night?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Dear Mr. President,
You'd never take a walk with me.
Would you?
"Dear Mr. President"
(feat. Indigo Girls)
Dear Mr. President,
Come take a walk with me.
Let's pretend we're just two people and
You're not better than me.
I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly.
What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?
Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?
What do you feel when you look in the mirror?
Are you proud?
How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eyeAnd tell me why?
Dear Mr. President,
Were you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
How can you say
No child is left behind?
We're not dumb and we're not blind.
They're all sitting in your cells
While you pave the road to hell.
What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?
And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?
I can only imagine what the first lady has to say
You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine
How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye?
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Minimum wage with a baby on the way
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Building a bed out of a cardboard box
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Hard workHard work
You don't know nothing 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
Oh
How do you sleep at night?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Dear Mr. President,
You'd never take a walk with me.
Would you?
once more into the fray
so
this morning I get up
early
cos I have to head into the city
to try to find some eyeglass frames
remember my post earlier about the
rectangular frames?
I'm on a quest.....
when I first wake up
it's like 7:30 and I wake up
with this eye dryness thing
that I have
in full swing
so
I put the eyeball goup (technical term)
in both eyes and settle down
to wait the 20 er so minutes it takes
laying there with my eyes closed
to alleviate the eye dryness thing
I woke up at 9
but hey
the eyes are better
so I climb into the car and head downtown
I hate shopping in the city
it's not that they don't have
a plethora of wonderful shops
and big stores
that have every little thing
one might want to purchase
whilst in the big city
no
my issue is parking
I'm not legally disabled
but I do suffer from a fair amount of
arthritic pain
in various joints etc
which makes me reluctant to park in a parkade
cos they are never near enough to the stores I need to go to
I am headed to 3 different eyeglass shops
that are house over a 6 city block radius
I get to the first one at 10
and it's closed till 11
great...
I just stuck two dollars in the meter
for 25 min parking
and now I'm gonna have to leave and come back
kitty corner to where I'm parked
is a well know coffee shop
so I walk across 2 portions of the intersection
and order myself a small coffee
just a coffee
not one o them
chai grande half caf low fat sweet no froth
thingamadoies
just a fuckin coffee
there's no one else in the shop
and it still takes this pinhead behind the counter
10 min to come up with one single
cup of coffee
and then when he does give it to me
it's the wrong size
so he wants me to pay more
ah no
just gimme the size I ordered
and don't take all day...
I end up with small coffee that was heated by
nuclear reactor in the basement
(and with my kinda luck
he spat in!)
I walk back to the car
pull out and drive the 6 blocks to the other shop
recommended to me by several colleagues
put another two dollars in the meter
and go in the shop
ya
nuttin but rectangles
so I get back in the car
and drive the 4 blocks to the 3rd shop
put another two dollars in the meter
ya
nuttin but rectangles
so I get back in the car
and drive the 3blocks to the 1st shop
it's 10:55
I've been in 2 shops and a dysfunctional coffee shop
but at least the coffee is cool enough to sip now
there isn't another car on the street
and I'm sitting in a parking spot
in the middle of the block
in front of the eyeglass shop
with the car running
I have just put the car in park
I pick up my coffee cup and get it half way to my face
when there's a knock at my window
startled
I whip about
lips still pursed
about to sip
and there's a parkin meter guy
standing at the car window
I open the door
cos the car window's in the VOD mobile
don't go down anymore
and this man
dressed like a canary
says
"ya gotta pay to park"
I say
"Ya...I'm just parking"
he says
"no..ya gotta pay to park ya can't just sit here"
I say
"I have every intention of paying
as soon as I get out of the car"
he says
"ya have to pay....ya can't just sit here"
"WHAT?
AM I SPEAKING A FOREIGN FUCKING LANGUAGE?
I.will.pay
as.soon.as.I.turn.my.car.off.and.get.out!"
all of this takes place with the door open
and my cup half way to my lips
as I turn to put the yet untasted coffee down
and reach towards the ignition to turn off the car
the idiot bangs on my window
with his trusty foot long flashlight
this time my head whips around
bearing a slight resemblance to Linda Blair in the Exorcist...
I swing open the door and he has to jump back into the street
lucky for him there's no traffic
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?"
I roar at him
"you gotta pay" he hollers back with suicidal deliberation
"you need to take your fucking medication"
I says to him...
I shut the car off
I get out
slam the door
walk to the meter
and guess what...
this time I have to pay 2 dollars yet again!
he stomps off down the street
like some vindicated nazi
and I go into the last eyeglass shop
to find
you guessed it
rectangular frames!
but here's the thing
this city spends a great deal of time and money
be-moaning how no one shops downtown...
they have committees and boards
and research grants
and meetings
they wax forth ad infinitum
about how it's all because of the homeless population
they spend weeks and months and years vilifying the homeless
they are all junkies and thieves and crack ho's and nutcases....
they do little or nothing to rectify their lives
or health....
the local politicians
they talk and talk and talk...
but what I get
is that over the course of an hour
I paid $8.00 for parking spots that I didn't actually get to use
for more than 10 min total
and got I got full on abused and harassed
by some son of a bitch parking nazi
dressed like a fucking canary
annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd
just to add insult to injury...
my gawd damn coffee was cold!
this morning I get up
early
cos I have to head into the city
to try to find some eyeglass frames
remember my post earlier about the
rectangular frames?
I'm on a quest.....
when I first wake up
it's like 7:30 and I wake up
with this eye dryness thing
that I have
in full swing
so
I put the eyeball goup (technical term)
in both eyes and settle down
to wait the 20 er so minutes it takes
laying there with my eyes closed
to alleviate the eye dryness thing
I woke up at 9
but hey
the eyes are better
so I climb into the car and head downtown
I hate shopping in the city
it's not that they don't have
a plethora of wonderful shops
and big stores
that have every little thing
one might want to purchase
whilst in the big city
no
my issue is parking
I'm not legally disabled
but I do suffer from a fair amount of
arthritic pain
in various joints etc
which makes me reluctant to park in a parkade
cos they are never near enough to the stores I need to go to
I am headed to 3 different eyeglass shops
that are house over a 6 city block radius
I get to the first one at 10
and it's closed till 11
great...
I just stuck two dollars in the meter
for 25 min parking
and now I'm gonna have to leave and come back
kitty corner to where I'm parked
is a well know coffee shop
so I walk across 2 portions of the intersection
and order myself a small coffee
just a coffee
not one o them
chai grande half caf low fat sweet no froth
thingamadoies
just a fuckin coffee
there's no one else in the shop
and it still takes this pinhead behind the counter
10 min to come up with one single
cup of coffee
and then when he does give it to me
it's the wrong size
so he wants me to pay more
ah no
just gimme the size I ordered
and don't take all day...
I end up with small coffee that was heated by
nuclear reactor in the basement
(and with my kinda luck
he spat in!)
I walk back to the car
pull out and drive the 6 blocks to the other shop
recommended to me by several colleagues
put another two dollars in the meter
and go in the shop
ya
nuttin but rectangles
so I get back in the car
and drive the 4 blocks to the 3rd shop
put another two dollars in the meter
ya
nuttin but rectangles
so I get back in the car
and drive the 3blocks to the 1st shop
it's 10:55
I've been in 2 shops and a dysfunctional coffee shop
but at least the coffee is cool enough to sip now
there isn't another car on the street
and I'm sitting in a parking spot
in the middle of the block
in front of the eyeglass shop
with the car running
I have just put the car in park
I pick up my coffee cup and get it half way to my face
when there's a knock at my window
startled
I whip about
lips still pursed
about to sip
and there's a parkin meter guy
standing at the car window
I open the door
cos the car window's in the VOD mobile
don't go down anymore
and this man
dressed like a canary
says
"ya gotta pay to park"
I say
"Ya...I'm just parking"
he says
"no..ya gotta pay to park ya can't just sit here"
I say
"I have every intention of paying
as soon as I get out of the car"
he says
"ya have to pay....ya can't just sit here"
"WHAT?
AM I SPEAKING A FOREIGN FUCKING LANGUAGE?
I.will.pay
as.soon.as.I.turn.my.car.off.and.get.out!"
all of this takes place with the door open
and my cup half way to my lips
as I turn to put the yet untasted coffee down
and reach towards the ignition to turn off the car
the idiot bangs on my window
with his trusty foot long flashlight
this time my head whips around
bearing a slight resemblance to Linda Blair in the Exorcist...
I swing open the door and he has to jump back into the street
lucky for him there's no traffic
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?"
I roar at him
"you gotta pay" he hollers back with suicidal deliberation
"you need to take your fucking medication"
I says to him...
I shut the car off
I get out
slam the door
walk to the meter
and guess what...
this time I have to pay 2 dollars yet again!
he stomps off down the street
like some vindicated nazi
and I go into the last eyeglass shop
to find
you guessed it
rectangular frames!
but here's the thing
this city spends a great deal of time and money
be-moaning how no one shops downtown...
they have committees and boards
and research grants
and meetings
they wax forth ad infinitum
about how it's all because of the homeless population
they spend weeks and months and years vilifying the homeless
they are all junkies and thieves and crack ho's and nutcases....
they do little or nothing to rectify their lives
or health....
the local politicians
they talk and talk and talk...
but what I get
is that over the course of an hour
I paid $8.00 for parking spots that I didn't actually get to use
for more than 10 min total
and got I got full on abused and harassed
by some son of a bitch parking nazi
dressed like a fucking canary
annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd
just to add insult to injury...
my gawd damn coffee was cold!
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