the late night rambling of a fool

3 April 2004

It is raining in Carlsbad night now … I can almost smell it. I miss
that open sky where you can watch the storm roll in for hours before it
gets there. I hated the reason WHY I had to be back in the desert- but
I didn’t hate the desert. Sometimes I miss it. But then again I am not
sure if I miss the desert or my parents. I connect the two — it’s
coming on 2 years since I went to New Mexico to take care of my dad
after my mom died. Two years without them. It feels really strange. I
find myself being sad a lot lately. Not weepy sad — well some days
weepy sad — but most of the time I am just sad. It hits me when LK is
bragging about the house to his parents. It hits me … I don’t have
anyone to brag to. I don’t have anyone to talk to about these kinds of
things anymore. I don’t have my mom to tell me she is proud of me, I
don’t have my dad to ask me how the electric is. Sometimes late at
night when I can’t sleep (which is most of the time), I lie in bed and
try to remember them. Some nights the memories flood in and some nights
I can’t even remember what color my mom’s eyes were. Every night is
different. Tonight is one of the nights where I need waders to get
through the memories they are so thick. Tonight is one of those nights
where I can’t stop thinking about it all. It is raining here tonight as
well, and listening to the drops hit the window reminded me of last
thunderstorm I had in New Mexico. My mom and dad were dead – I was
alone in the desert in a house I had no fondness for. Waiting on my
husband or my aunt or someone, anyone to come and be with me. There is
alone and then there is ALONE. I was more alone than I had ever been —
watching the lightning scatter across the sky and listening to the
thunder. Sleep just wouldn’t come. Two years later I still fight the
images of those weeks in the desert. The thoughts of “what if” — the
idea that maybe, just maybe if I had done one thing differently it all
would have worked out. There isn’t anything now I can do about it, and
somewhere deep inside I suppose I know I did all that a person can do.
Nights like tonight I replay the night my mom died. Driving across
country with LK, showing up at 11pm at my parents home – a home that I
had never seen before. Hearing the doctor go over the test results with
me. Listening to my dad’s voice break when he tells the doctor that it
is my decision — “She will know what to do.” … Which was his way of
saying “Please do what your mom would want because I just can’t let her
go.” The words escaping from my mouth — it didn’t seem real then and
they don’t seem real now. Watching my dad giving my mom back to the
wind one last time. Just when my brain starts to drift off and I think
I can maybe sleep at last… thoughts of my dad come rushing in. The
cancer, the losing battle, the nurses, the tears, all of the
conversations we had — all of the conversations I wish we would have
had. Watching him slip away — not being able to be at the hospital
with him as much as I would have liked. I wasn’t even over losing my
mom in that place just weeks before. The nightmare of that haunted me
every time I stepped foot in that place. His room was just around the
corner from hers. Same nurses, same faces — same smell. It was
horrible. Any time he was awake and I was there he would ask me about
the dogs and tell me to go home — at the end he wasn’t awake. The
drugs did that much for him. He made it clear the whole time I was
there — I was not there to take care of him. I was there to take care
of his dogs after he died. That is what he worried about. He was so
selfless. He could have been in pain beyond anyone’s comprehension and
he would ask the nurse if she would like something to eat or drink.
That week between his death and anyone being able to get out to New
Mexico with me I wondered if I would ever sleep again … well, so far
I haven’t really been able to sleep. To put it all out of mind and just
sleep – it isn’t insomnia but I wouldn’t call it sleep either. Eternal
napping, that’s what I guess you could call it. You know that bullshit
line people feed you when you’ve just buried a loved one … the pain
won’t go away but it will get better. It isn’t true. It doesn’t get
better. You are never the same. You may handle it a little better than
you expect but it never gets better. For me in fact it is worse. After
my mom died I was the strong one — I had to be. Everyone else broke
down … things had to be done and I had to do them. After my dad got
sick the same thing — things had to be done and I had to do them …
then he died. I moved back to Virginia and about 6 months after he died
I finally started to grieve for he and my mom. So if anything it has
not gotten better — but worse. Funny thing is — when I do sleep … I
dream about them, I just can’t escape. I need to shut the fuck up now –
nobody likes a whiner.

scariest thing

18 March 2004

This is the scariest thing I have ever read: “The Federal
Communications Commission overruled its staff and said an expletive
uttered by rock singer Bono on NBC was both indecent and profane. It
marked the first time that the FCC cited a four-letter word as profane;
the commission previously equated profanity with language challenging
God’s divinity.”
Profanity is like challenging God’s divinity? Whose fucking God? Fuck,
what if you don’t have a God? Then what — fuck is okay? Jeezie creezie
these fuckers are getting scary. Anyone wanna buy me a fucking ticket
to the UK … as far as I know FUCK is still legal over there. Fucking
uptight crazy ass amerikkkan jesus freaks.
And in case you missed it –I am fucking unnerved by this fucking shit!

good person

10 March 2004

Did you know that you can tell if a person is decent by what they do
with their empty shopping carts?
If you take the empty cart to a cart corral or back into the stores
front cart area then you are a decent person, if you hike the cart up
onto the curb or grassy area of a parking area to keep the cart from
rolling about the lot then you’d like people to think you are decent
but you are really just a lazy shit and if you just leave it where you
unloaded it you are a fucktard of the highest order .. and finally if
you move the empty cart away from your car so as not to damage your SUV
only to push it into anothers vehicle you deserve to be killed in the
slowest most painful manner imaginable as soon as possible.
Why yes I did go grocery shopping today … how could you tell?

fatherless child

2 January 2004

My dad was not my father. It didn’t matter to him or to me that we were
not bound by genetics. He did all of the things that the man I thought
was my biological father couldn’t or wouldn’t. All of my life I had
questions about my father. There was a man that everyone told me was my
father, there was a family — grandparents, cousins — everything. I
always had my doubts. I never fit in, I didn’t like them, they didn’t
like me .. whatever reasons I felt strange around them. I didn’t feel
like family. I asked my mother countless times about it and she never
really answered my questions just sort of danced around it.
A few months ago I made a remark to an aunt of mine that I didn’t think
that the man they called my father was my actual father — I have made
comments about it before but this time someone said “You know, I have
had my doubts as well.” WHAT — you mean I could be onto something
Thanksgiving I found out that quite a few people had their doubts.
People that were there before I was born, facts about my parents
divorce / seperation. I found out that it is quite possible that I am
not related at all to the family I thought I was. This evening I spoke
with my cousin and she gave me some more information. While it is
exciting to think that I may have been right all of this time, and I am
not related to the Springer show that I thought was my family. I am a
little nervous. Do I want to know? What if they are wrong and I get my
hopes up and I am related to those people? Does my wanting to know make
my relationship with my dad worth less? I am full of questions and only
leads with no answers. I know I have to just look inside. I know that
family has NOTHING to do with DNA — I know that Thomas Gibbs was my
dad without question and I know that my choice in not acknowledging the
other family has more to do with who I am than and genetics testing. I
know this… but I still feel strange. I need to take a day — walk in
the woods and just think about it and ponder. Is it really worth
knowing. I guess if you believe something hard enough and want
something bad enough — then that is good enough. What would you do if
you didn’t know who your father was…. does it even matter.


6 November 2003

I suppose being normal is overrated anyway. Or maybe that is just
something abnormal people say to make themselves feel better about not
being normal. I don’t feel normal. Some of the time I just don’t think
about how far away from the herd I am and I just live day to day and
then there are times that it slaps me in my face how different I am
from sheeple. It can happen when people talk about their parents in the
present tense … “My mom and I are going shopping tomorrow.” Then I
wish my mom and I could go shopping again. Or when the cashier at the
grocery store sees a child in line, ooos and aahs over it, and then
admits how much she LOVES children and don’t I just love children too.
I sometimes tell them “Yes, they are delicious.” but recently I just
ignore them like I didn’t hear them, or let the expression on my face
say it all.
There are other things that seperate me from them … my distaste for
clothes shopping, my contempt for government, disgust at those who soak
in perfume and wrap themselves in fashion. I don’t know it just doesn’t
sound like I am that far from normal to me… or am I?

party of one

1 November 2003

I picked up “Party of One: A Loners’ Manifesto” at the library this
week by Anneli Rufus. It is very interesting and I never considered
myself a “loner” before. I just hate people. I am only a few pages into
this adventure and already I am beginning to believe I have been a
loner all along. I don’t like crowds and avoid them at every
opportunity, an outing with friends will have me needing a weekend of
pure quiet to recover. I married an extrovert. Not only is he an
extrovert he actually likes being around people and helping them. We
even each other out. I wonder how many are out there like me. People
who think differently, learn differently, act differently.
I doubt we will ever know because it isn’t like we are going to start a
support group to meet others … or are we? There is probably more than
a few on the internet. I just looked and there are quite a few. Do you
think the people who join those groups will ever see the irony of
joining a support group for loners?

buckeye bound

8 September 2003

I woke up this morning from a nasty nightmare. One of those all alone
and you know it sort of feelings. I literally woke up screaming — I
have gotten used to the nightmares over the years and most of the time
I just brush them off and go back to sleep. It has been a long time
since I have been haunted by a dream like this. I suppose a lot of it
has to do with my family. I am going to see them tomorrow for a few
days. There are a few people in the family I like to see and visit with
but sadly the ones I don’t like (down right hate) make the visits more
like work than vacation. We went on a spur of the moment sort of thing
a month ago and got suckered into doing computer work and now we have
to return the fruits of LKs labor. Before that it had been 2 years
since I had been there. I was up late because I couldn’t sleep for all
of the what could happen scenarios going on in my brain. The last trip
was so suddened that I didn’t realize I was anxious at all. This time
it is different. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be there. If the
few people I wanted to see would just come see me I would be oh so
happy. Even then it is tense because I am not like these people. I am
not into the same hobbies or believe the same things. It is a trying
experience at best.
I am eternally grateful for my mother and her ability to see past the
moment and get out of that place. She allowed me a freedom I never
would have experienced there. She gave me free thought, expression and
the courage to be who I am. I am certain that had she not packed her
shit and gotten the hell out of Dodge I would be just like them — and
that terrifies me. It is okay for some I suppose, but I would have died
a horrible death of spirit asphyxiation were I to have lived there for
very long.

Missing Mom

17 August 2003

My mom died 5 February 2002. Time has passed and some wounds have
healed, some have just gone numb. Getting on with life has gotten a
little easier, but last night for the first time in a long time I
really missed her. I missed her so much I couldn’t sleep. My mom and I
had this weird relationship. When I was growing up we fought
constantly. She raised me to think for myself and when I hit puberty
that notion came back to haunt her. *grins* We didn’t always see eye to
eye, we yelled, screamed and if you were on the outside looking in you
would think that we hated each other. Even through the teenage years, I
could ALWAYS go to her for
advice, to talk, anything, anytime, day or night. Last night was one of
those nights when growing up I would have crept into her room needing
to talk. She never slept well so most of the time I would find her
awake, either reading or working on crochet. She always stopped for me.
Some nights she would be exhausted but never gave in until I had it all
off of my chest. Later in life she became my best friend. I didn’t
always agree with her, or like what she was doing but she was always
there for me and I can’t deny that she had plenty of good advice. My
aunt says I am just like her. I agree that there are some eerie
similarities but I think I took the good from her and the good from my
dad and went from there out on my own. I don’t know what brought it on,
I don’t know how to turn it off — but I missed her last night more
than any night since she died.

Does Life Suck?

15 August 2003

I recently read in some dark corner of the internet that the only
reason one would keep an online journal would be to complain about the
hell that is their life. I don’t know that I believe that. My life
isn’t all that bad. If you stand back and look at it my life is
actually kind of nice. I rant a lot but not about anything that
controls my happy / sad factor. Just annoying things. I don’t know why
I bother really except just to get it off of my mind. Rant a bit then
forget it. I have a wonderful person in my life who adores me and
spoils me rotten. I have 2 fantastic dogs that could not be better at
being cute if they tried and all of the toys and gadgets a girl needs.
And to the dark corner of the net I say … you can so blog and be
happy … so there.


11 August 2003

If I ever write a book about my family I am going to call it “Two Tanks
of Gas and a Handful of Xanax” – because that is what you need to get
through a weekend with them. It isn’t that I despise the whole family
thing – just a few of them. They seem to make the visits stressful and
annoying. There are few groovy people in our gene pool that I dig
hanging about with. I wish those groovy ones would come and see us more
often but I understand their schedules are pretty stretched to the
limit. It should would be nice to have time with them without hearing
about, dealing with or seeing the shitheads of the family. Ah well– we
are home now and I have added the missing days of the pic-of-the-day