Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Wowee, sorry it's been such a long lull between posts. Not like my opinions and thoughts keep the world turning or anything, but, you know, I would prefer to be consistent. I'm just popping by for a moment to let people know I'm still here. I've been super busy. Most days I get up no later than six-thirty and I stay busy all day. My Mom just paid for her and I to join Curves, we went today for the first time. I'm so overweight so this will be really great. I was really into it. I think it was a little hard for her, but it will be good for her the more we go. I'm going to try to go everyday, but they're not open on Sunday, and I can't walk there, so we'll see how things work out. I think it will really help me get in shape.

So anyway, I need to get going because I have a lot of baking to do for Easter still. My siblings eat whatever I make almost as fast as I bake it. It's driving me crazy. I think my Mom is going to try to store it at the neighbor's house until the week after the real Easter when we'll be able to celebrate. We have to celebrate on the week after because my Mom and brother have court in Virginia on the 5th. That's lame but unavoidable, I guess.

So, until later......

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

My Weekend in Westport with the Misogynistic Tyrant

It's supposed to be APRIL showers that bring May flowers. There's supposed to be snow still melting in March...... I'm back from the weekend in Westport. However, I've been rendered speechless the past couple of days, unable to relate the horrors of my trip until now. It was so bad, I don't even know how to begin to explain just how bad it was. So bad, so, so bad.

This past weekend was just the third time I met Larry Lieberman. Yet, one looking on as a fly on the wall, would have thought him my horribly overbearing, slightly mad, father. Or worse, a step-father who now feels it is his duty to discipline the much too old children of his crazy lover. From the moment we arrived, until the moment we left, this man had only one of two expressions; he was either creepily smirking, or frowning with frustration.

I can't believe how much work my brother, Scooter, has done for them down there, basically for free. It's really crazy, actually. This man started a business the same year he separated from his wife and was fired from his job. Now he's trying to get not one, but three businesses off the ground; and not a single one is closer than a hundred miles to any of the others. Does this make sense to anyone so far? Probably not, but wait, it gets worse. His previous job was, supposedly, as floor manager or something along such lines, at Macy's in New York. Whoop-dee-fricken-doo, you'd think he had been Vice President of the United States the way he puts on airs. I'm really, quite frankly, not surprised he was fired. He's a technological moron of ridiculous proportions. He doesn't even know how to set up his own e-mail. He just recently bought a digital camera one of the weekends my brother was down there acting as his indentured servant, and Larry hands him the newly purchased camera and tells him to go put it together. What, I ask, does he think there is to assemble? Basically he wants everyone to just do everything for him. But how does that work when the task comes down to simply being able to understand something? How can I know or understand something for someone else? I can't just carry the knowledge around in my head until he needs it then simply ESP it to him or something. But that's what he wants, really. That's what he wanted from me when it came to setting up their eBay site. He wants what he wants, and he wants it NOW. I can't believe he worked there for as long as he did. His personal skills are virtually nonexistent. He doesn't listen to a word anyone else says. He doesn't communicate his expectations, he communicates only when his absurdly unreasonable expectations haven't been satisfactorily met. Let me try to prove my point.

We arrived at Larry's rented home at approximately eleven-thirty on Thursday night. We had driven almost four hours from Exeter, after Scooter had been landscaping for his actual real job all day. I had been at home getting everything settled for our absence; buying groceries, cleaning bathrooms, doling out allowances, packing my own things, taking the dog to the vet, et cetera. Basically, it had been a long day and we were ready for it to end. Upon our arrival at the house, we realized that Helen (my Mom) and Larry were out. Fortunately, Antoinette, the woman who acts as a maid but who is really a home care giver with her BA (that is for later in the story) was home and awake, and she let us in to get settled. We had only been there for about ten minutes when Helen and Larry showed up with some groceries. I had spoken to my Mom earlier and she had said they were totally out of food because there had been a storm earlier that week that caused the power to go out; so she had given most of the food from that trip to Antoinette so it wouldn't spoil. So I was glad she had gone to the store that night rather than waiting to the next day like she had originally planned because we were starving. Already, though, Larry was disgruntled because he felt that it wasn't necessary to buy more groceries that night, or at all; so we started off badly because he felt put out I guess. Even though it was my mother who actually paid for the groceries, for us, specifically, to have stuff to eat while we were there. But you could tell he didn't really want us to touch anything. My Mom kept telling us we could eat whatever we wanted because she paid for it, and then he would say things like, "Who ate all my shortbread cookies?". When there were plenty left and they weren't just his at all, he's just so greedy he can't deal with anyone else using up anything. Actually, is it accurate to label him greedy, or should it be cheap? Or both? So, right off the bat he's pissed that my Mom spent money on food for us.

Then, as we're finally getting ready for bed, around midnight, my brother, who had been there before and knew more than I, called out to everyone in general, "Let's not rush out of here in the morning, it's been a long week for me". And how does Larry reply? "You're going to be getting up with me first thing in the morning to get started." Scooter didn't even say anything back. He knew there was no point because it would just be an argument, I guess. Plus, he knew he was driving me to the clinic, so Larry would just have to deal with that. And that is where things really began to turn sour.

I had assumed that there would be WiFi access at Larry's house. It's in Westport, CT, and I figured everyone has Internet nowadays unless you live in the boonies and they don't have access. It just didn't even occur to me that he may not. So I had the address for this place in my computer. All I had to do was get to a place with WiFi; which anyone, who hasn't been living under a rock, would know can be done at any Dunkin' Donuts, McDonalds, or roadside pullover in major cities. But Larry, apparently, is a rock dweller because the man was clueless. He kept asking where the clinic was and I kept telling him that I needed to get on my computer in order to tell him. But he just wouldn't hear that. He kept asking me names of places and asking me if that was familiar. He was listing street names as if I would remember if I heard it. Despite the fact that I had repeatedly told him that I rely entirely on my laptop and I would not recognize the street name because I didn't read it, ever. I wasn't planning on caring until the moment I typed it into the GPS. But the man had clay in his ears. He pulled out a CT phone book and proceeded to bully me into dialing random doctor's offices in Norwalk (where the clinic was located) to ask if they were the clinic. Now, anyone on methadone knows that health care professionals who do not deal with methadone regularly, do not respond well to being asked about it. So he's standing over me, waiting as I ask these random medical receptionists if they know where the Norwalk methadone clinic is. And they're answering me like I'm crazy and really offending them. And this whole thing is making me more and more frustrated by the second. I've told him that I can find it just fine, and that calling all these places is just a waste of time because I can find it on the GPS in, like, five seconds. If he would just let us get going, we'd be back in less than an hour, or we could meet them at the store or wherever. But the man is relentless. Finally, I'm sweating profusely, my face is getting red, I feel sick to my stomach, I want to throw the phone at him; but I walk into the bedroom with him lingering at my heels and I motion to my mother that this has to stop. I'm facing her trying to make a distressed face and the cut-off/stop this motion with my hand swiping across my neck, like "kill me". She does get my point, thank God, and tells him to stop making me call random doctor's offices and let us just get going. He was, as you can imagine, not pleased with me for that. He's the type of guy who does not like to be wrong, especially when the person correcting him happens to be a women (more on that later). I could feel him fuming from the other room, I should have known at that moment that there was no repairing the rift that had been created by me enforcing my will over him, however minutely.

Then, after all that, he decided that HE wanted to drive me to the clinic because then Scooter could get started right away on the chores he had lined up for him. Get this, he planned for my brother to landscape the yard of the home is currently trying to sell with his not quite yet ex-wife. And Scooter has already done other work at his house, he took down his kids' childhood tree house, he cleaned asbestos out of the basement for a day before my Mom found out and put an end to it, and that doesn't even begin to cover the work he did setting up this guy's store. So, anyhow, more on all that later. Right now, I'm trying to write about this guy wanting to take me to the methadone clinic in the middle of this shitty part of Norwalk so my brother can do more work for him. I should mention, also, that it is eight in the morning, and his store doesn't actually open until ten. All his actual employees show up around ten fifteen and take their sweet ass time getting set up; but we, for some unknown reason, have to be there as close to the crack of dawn as possible. He seemed not to accept the fact that we were there for our mom, to see where she lives down there, to check out this business she's dumping money into, and most important, to get to know what this guy she likes is all about. And so far, he's making a really poor impression.

But we finally convince him that it would be best for Scooter to drive me and that we could find it, no problem, once we got to a place with WiFi and those are everywhere. It was like trying to convince someone that worms talk or something. He was dumbfounded by this talk of these newfangled devices called WiFi, Internet, Cell phones, Digital, GPS, it was like he'd rather we took a horse drawn carriage everywhere, for crying out loud. We didn't so much convince him as insist that that was the ONLY way it would work. And as I have said, he was not accustomed to a young women being so assertive and sure of what she wanted. I was being polite, but he was really getting on my nerves. At that point, however, I was still trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. I kept telling myself that he'd been through a lot recently and he's was under a lot of stress. But the more I saw him in action, the more I thought he was just an ass. A pompous, misogynistic, self-centered, classist, sexist, greedy, delusional ASS!

I really have to end this installment of the Tale of the Dreaded Westport Weekend. My Mom is finally home and despite how angry I am at her, my brother convinced me, after a little while of being stand-offish with her when she returned, to keep it to myself because she would eventually figure out what an ass he(Larry) is on her own. He and my counselor both said that. I can't make her see this man for what he is. She already knows he treats her terribly, and she's acting the same way she has with so many other pathetic men she's had in her life. It's this shit that made me leave so young to begin with. I often feel as if I stepped out of this house just yesterday, that I may as well still be seventeen because so much is the same. I wanted to believe she had matured, like the rest of us have to some extent. We're all trying, some more successfully than others, to grow up. I guess she's trying too, because outwardly she seems to have changed for the better, at least somewhat. But she just still makes these hideous choices. I'm hoping she will see, in time, that she doesn't need this guy trying to control her. I can't wait to write about the way he treats women. I just promised I would start (and finish) to bake all the Easter stuff. She wants anise cookies, all these Easter breads, sugar cookies, sticky buns, I didn't even look at all the recipes yet. I'm going to be cooking for days. But I owe her, especially since this thing this weekend didn't work out. I'll fill in the details once I have more time. And I'd rather bake than do other things. At least I like baking. And I'm really perfecting some of these recipes, so I can make them for my own family some day.

Anyhow, it's snowing here today. It's going to be a good day. Despite the angry tone of this post, I'm feeling fine today. I didn't write about this weekend until it was processed somewhat for me, so the anger is more what I felt over the past few days. But now I'm just documenting it, and then moving on.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Just Another Day

Well, well.....after a whole, entire, gut-wrenching day of searching for this dang dog....and Mikey locked him in the frickin garage. I could seriously smack him silly for it. I must have asked him five million times if he remembered letting the dog upstairs or outside, because Chili is definitely his dog. There are some of the others who have bonded more with me, but Chili isn't one of them. I mean, he'll sit with me, and come when I call, but he's Mikey's little guy through and through. Mikey gets way more upset than I do when he runs off, but he still doesn't pay enough attention to him when he takes him outside or upstairs. It drives me crazy. I'm constantly telling him that he can't just let them out in the yard and come back inside to make coffee or whatever, you have to stand there with them so they don't leave the yard or go running off after someone's dog. Granted, I should have checked every nook and cranny in the house as well, I can't believe I didn't, I feel SO stupid. But Mike was so convinced that someone must have let him out whether they knew they did or not. He waited until it was almost dark and we'd been searching the town all day before he mentions that he went in there that morning to check on his glass and Chili was with him! Why didn't he check there first, knowing he'd gone in there. I'm so annoyed with him, as usual.

It's embarrassing to have to tell neighbors that you lost your dog, they think you're so irresponsible and thoughtless. And we called the dog officer and the local SPCA, and then you have to call them all back and thank them and tell them you found the dog. It just sucks. It took over the whole day because both Mike and I worry so much about our animals. We really are good pet owners, they get treated better than some people's children, for sure. But sometimes circumstances arise which are out of our control. But people are still very judgemental.
The stressfulness of the day was only exacerbated when we realized, shortly after we noticed Chili missing, that Seneca (our other and oldest dog) had done something to his right front paw. It looked as if he just broke his nail on something and busted his paw, but he was limping around and would screech if someone attempted to touch his paw. So we had to take him to the vet and couldn't look for Chili right away, at least not as thoroughly as we would have liked. So that probably contributed to making Mikey forget about going in the garage and messed up our search making it so much longer. It was just a bad, crappy day with a lot of stress over the dogs.

If Mike could just pull himself together and act like a man about shit, life would be a whole lot easier. But he's such a baby about everything. It's humiliating to deal with him when he acts like that. I called the vet beforehand to obtain directions, just to try to make things easier so we weren't searching for it with all the dogs in the car. Because we didn't just take Seneca who was hurt, we also had to take three of our other dogs because my brothers freak out if they bark while we're out. So we took three with us, put two in their kennel because it only fits two, and left one out because she's good; and Chili, of course, we thought was missing at the time so he stayed in the garage. So, we're all stressed about the dog missing, and Seneca is hurt, and the dogs are all stuffed in our little Honda Civic and we're on our way to the vet, just across town. It's not the regular vet my Mom goes to, either, because she refused to change vets when she moved and her vet is, like, over an hour away. So that was out for sure. No way was I going to haul us all that far away. So I found a different vet, in town, which is why I had never been there before. So Mike decides he's going to look up how to get there on our phone GPS thingy, which sucks and never gets us to the right place. And the stupid thing is telling us that the vet is right in front of us on the Exeter side of the highway, and I'm telling Mike that there's no way because I called for directions and the woman, who was IN the building told me that it was on the other side of the highway, in BRENTWOOD. Hence, the name Brentwood Country Veterinarian Hospital. But he's like, "NO, NO, NO it HAS to be here! The red dot is saying it's RIGHT here!" And I'm like, "Those fuckin' things are wrong all the time. It's just a satellite or something and it's just getting you sort of close. It sucks man, listen to me, the woman said it was OVER the highway. She made it very clear. It's a big green farmhouse, with a big red BARN, do you see a barn anywhere near us? Hum, DO YOU SEE A BARN?!?" And he just won't give up, and he's driving onto little side roundabout streets into office parks and shit all, "IT MUST BE HERE! It's telling me it's here!" And I'm finally saying to him, "Then you call her, you ask her what she meant if you're so convinced it's on this side of the highway." And after yelling at me that there was nowhere for him to pull over to use the phone and why didn't I just call her; and he's driving like a total asshole, pulling u-ies (is that how one would spell such a thing? You know what I mean), he finally calls the office himself. And of course, unsurprising to myself, she explained that they were, indeed, located on the OTHER side of the highway. That he needed to drive a bit further than he had gone the first time." And when I said, "Well, there now. Why can't you ever just listen to me, man. If you ever listened to me, we'd be there, and we wouldn't be this upset, there was no need for this. I think you owe me an apology." Do you think he gave me an apology? Oh, No. He actually had the nerve to continue to blame it on me; because I should have been more definite and sure about where we were going and I would have known that it was further than a mile down the road on the opposite side of the overpass. Because he did drive over the bridge just less than a mile initially, just to try to prove I was wrong. But the way the road is, with all the trees and houses, you can't see ahead very far, and they were basically just around the corner. How annoying is that? He does shit like that all the time.

With the way he acted on the way there, and the way he acts in general, in public, I didn't want him to come inside the vet office with me. So I made it seem like I just thought he should wait with the dogs outside because it was pretty hot yesterday. So I brought Seneca in and got him all signed in. No sooner was I inside the office with the doctor than I hear him out in the reception area harassing the receptionist. Asking her questions about the cost of this and that, and what about advantage, and what about the tracking device you can put in the dog's ear, he just goes on and on. He tells everyone everywhere we go that we're opening a head shop. Now that's fine, if you happen to be speaking to your target audience. But when the person you are conversing with is, say, a very elderly woman who clearly does not smoke weed, and probably doesn't even know what a head shop is, just spare the poor woman the confusion. You should see some of the looks I get when he's talking to people. He'll tell them really personal information they didn't ask for, or the worst is when he asks someone for help in a store when I already know what I want and where it is, I'm just still deciding. Like I'll be looking at the meat, thinking about what I should get, and he'll go to the butcher counter and make someone come out and stand there and tell him about each cut and ask a MILLION questions, it drives me CRAZY. And I can't even go anywhere without him because I don't have my drivers licence. Dear God, I hope I get it back soon, it's all a matter of money at this point. As soon as I pay up, I'm good to go.

Man, I have to stop bitching today. I have so, so much to do today. My brother wants to leave to get to Westport tonight at six. So I have to get the house all cleaned up so that it's not a disaster by the time I get back on Sunday with my Mom. I mean, it will probably be a disaster anyway, but at least I'll know I did what I could. But besides cleaning up the whole house, I have to get myself ready too. I really should go to the storage unit where all our crap still is from when we just moved, I need to get some clothes. I only have a small bit of my clothes out because we're staying in the basement, which really sucks. It's not really refinished; it's not dirt or anything, but it's not a real living space either. We're supposed to be refinishing it slowly, but it's going much slower than anticipated because it's expensive and time consuming. So we've made a bedroom size area as livable as possible, and it's alright. It's livable is what it is. But dreary and dusty and I don't want my clothes down there until it's all painted and stuff. But if I'm going to be working in my Mom's store I guess I need some nicer clothes. I've been told this Westport place is kind of fancy, it's, like, all mansions and rich people. We'll see. Last time my brother was down there, that girl that was in that show Sabrina, The Teenage Witch came in to buy mirrors or something and Scooter waited on her. That's kind of weird. I wonder if I'll see anyone famous?

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

I have a six year old Chihuahua and he's always been a really easy dog. But lately, since we moved here, he's been taking off and disappearing for hours at a time. He's been neutered for years, so it's not those hormones responsible for his yearnings. I don't know what's gotten into him. We take him for walks, maybe we should take him out more, but he doesn't like the snow, or rain, or the cold, so it's a little hard to get the best exercise all the time. And it just stopped raining after days of gray and drizzle. But just because I know why he would want to run off doesn't mean I'm not extremely stressed out by it. I worry mostly about him getting hit, or stolen, or, at best, picked up by the dog officer. It really ruins my day/night, whenever it is he decides to take off. And it's not as if I can just explain to him how terrible and dangerous it is for him to do. He's probably just running around in the woods behind our house, but he got lost last time he did this and we found him roads away from our, just aimlessly wandering it seemed. It just really worries me that he won't come back, ever, and I'll be left wondering what happened to him and if he suffered a lot. I feel like it's our fault he got out. But nobody let him out this time, he just snuck out when someone opened the door. I really don't know how he got out without anyone noticing. I just really hope we get him back soon.
Happy Saint Patrick's Day

Nantucket Dreamin'

Today's inspirational visuals are of Nantucket Island. I admit I have never yet been to Nantucket. My parents, for some reason, were into Block Island instead. Block Island is definitely nice, in fact, I've been told it's quite similar to Nantucket. But still, Nantucket is where I want to take a summer trip this year.
I Love the ocean, the beach, the atmosphere of a small, vacation oriented island. The pace of life is slow and no one expects for you to hurry.

There is something calming about the sound of the waves and the smell of the water. And the breeze makes sleeping by the ocean in summer so comfortable.

This is an aerial view of the Island. It's quite small, isn't it? I think it's bigger than Block Island though. I've always wanted a black Vespa to drive in the summer. I'd drive it to the clinic and the grocery store, even. As long as it wasn't raining, I'd drive it anywhere. I love those things, and they're way better than a car on gas mileage.
I thought that maybe I should learn just a little bit about the place before I decided I had to visit. Makes sense, right? So I thought I would share what I learned with my few devoted readers, just in case anyone cares, or is perhaps planning a Nantucket vacation.
Nantucket is, without a doubt, a summer destination. There are, certainly, a small number of year-round residents who enjoy the quiet, isolated winter months. Just about ten thousand people live there through the winter, a population that swells to over fifty thousand come summer. According to recent census information, there are only about four hundred students attending the high school in Nantucket. That's about the size of my high school, back in the day. And let me vouch for the fact that it is quite a small number of kids. It gets pretty cozy pretty fast. It's really expensive to live on the island, as you can imagine any island would be. Simply due to the fact that everything, and I mean basically everything, has to be shipped in by boat or plane, the prices are quite a bit higher than they would be on the mainland just thirty miles away. Therefore, the majority of actual residents are quite wealthy. There are a good number of celebrities who own homes on the island. I hope I can even afford a hotel there for a long weekend.
I've always been fascinated by history, mostly the history of people and the way they settled the land, one people always displacing another and then claiming ownership. And it is no different with Nantucket. Not surprisingly, Nantucket was mainly populated by Wampanoag Indians until the English began to sail by, taking notice, around the early 1600's. Traditionally, it seems as if the Wampanoag and similar local tribes spent just the summer months on the island, doing a lot of fishing and eventually harvesting whales that washed up on shore, then returning to the mainland for the winter. But as the mainland, around Cape Cod, became more, and more densely populated by Europeans the Indians began to make Nantucket a more permanent home in order to flee the unwanted influx of immigrants. They lived mostly undisturbed, in relative peace, until around 1641 when Nantucket was sold to Thomas Mayhew and his son by English authorities. It was about this time, similar to neighboring Martha's Vineyard, that this area south of Boston became a popular hub for fishing and whaling.
The real population boom apparently came around 1659, when Mayhew sold his interests in Nantucket to nine original investors. This is when sea merchants and whalers truly began to invade the island, displacing the native populations once again. Nantucket then remained a major port until the 1850's. Decline occurred due to a convergence of circumstances, some of which affected just the island, and others which took a toll on industries across the country. First, there was the "Great Fire" of 1846 which was so destructive due to all the whale oil and lumber. The fire managed to burn the main town and about 36 acres, causing a great many people to lose their homes and leave the island poverty stricken. Then, according to sources, the harbor began to silt up, making it impossible for large whaling ships to enter the harbor. That and the development of the railroad, made mainland ports the more logical choice.
Without the draw of the fishing industry, there was little to bring new settlers to the island. And it remained a rather isolated and dreary place to visit until sometime in the 1950's when investors began to see some potential in the island. With Martha's Vineyard being a model both of what could be done and what not to do, investors began to create a vacationland for wealthy New Englanders. And that is what it remains as today, a high class destination for super rich summer vacationers and the college students who serve them. With the occasional middle-class blemish like myself, trying to imagine, just for the weekend, what it would be like to be privileged.
So there it is. My speedy, probably somewhat inaccurate version of the History of Nantucket.
Anyhow, now that I have placed in the world something positive and happy for people to think about for the day, I can feel somewhat satisfied. I have a ton of crap to get done today. Turns out, the clinic in CT decided it would be okay for me to receive my host dose there afterall. I think, really, it was my counselor, and my clinic that was trying to create an uncomfortable situation for me in order to persuade me that marijuana smoking is bad. Well, screw them. They are not going to bully me into doing something I really don't want to do. I don't think it's wrong to smoke weed. Like Jeannie mentioned, it is not much different than having a drink of wine. And they don't make me take a breathalyzer everyday. They don't withhold take-homes to people who admit to drinking occasionally. Honestly, I equate smoking weed with smoking cigarettes. Once people smoke weed regularly, that is about how affected they are by smoking. I don't smoke tobacco, but the few times I have I got so sick and dizzy I wanted to puke. I actually have puked from tobacco on three occasions. And I would not be able to drive after smoking a cigarette. If I insisted on building a tolerance for it though, I'd be able to drive just fine. Same with weed for habitual smokers. I think that the clinics should only test for heroin, cocaine, and benzos, because those are the drugs that can have fatal interactions with methadone. And I think that after a certain amount of time, say five years, of testing negative for those drugs, they should just stop wasting money on tests unless behavioral signs show that something is off with a particular patient. Anyhow, I could go on and on about this particular subject. But I really don't have the time right now. And I wanted to devote an entire post to urine testing at methadone clinics. So for now, I think I'll leave you with what I've got here so far.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Life Happens

Finally the rain has stopped falling, and the sun is out. It's soggy as oatmeal out there still, but I'm glad it's beginning to dry up. I usually enjoy the rain, the dark days, the slower pace it seems to bring; but for some reason, this latest rain spell made me feel somewhat depressed or something. I couldn't get the fire to burn well in the fireplace because all our wood got wet and a draft was coming down the chimney, along with some rain drip, and everything felt wet and raw.

I did manage to get part of the front lawn raked before the rain, but I have a lot left to finish and I can't wait to get started. I would like to have the whole thing done before my Mom gets back from her latest trip. She spends a lot more time away from here than she spends here. I'm not really sure why she keeps this house except that I think she wants a place of her own in case things don't work out where she is. Maybe she also feels like she can't sell this house because then where would we all live. It's not really her problem to provide living quarters for a bunch of adults, but it's pretty nice to have the option to live here, rather than rent some over-priced, crappy apartment. Between all of us, we should be able to pay most of the bills if everyone were to contribute. But I'm not so sure I want to involve myself in that kind of hassle, arguing with them over who owes what every month. Then I'd be forced to pay it myself if they didn't hand over their share. I'm not sure it's worth it, but I don't have to decide today, so no point in stressing over it. I have enough to worry about without adding things that don't matter today.

My brother, the older of the two, spent part of his weekend in New York again with his new girlfriend. Only this time she was sick, and she passed it to him, and he's been lying all over the house moaning and groaning and being snappy with everyone, and now we are all beginning to feel unwell. So I'm going to make homemade chicken soup tonight, with a lot of fresh garlic, and some popovers or something, and hopefully that will help bolster our immune systems. I should also get some of that airborne stuff that you're supposed to take as soon as you think you may be sick. I hate, hate, hate getting sick. I feel so useless and icky. I AM useless, and nothing gets done and it makes me feel sticky and smelly. Yuk! I really hope I don't get it. Of course, we all could simply be a group of hypochondriacs and we just think we're sick because Scooter says he's sick. Maybe he's just crashing from using too many drugs and claiming "sick" to get away with it. Who knows? We're having chicken soup either way.

I'm trying to set up a host dosing at a clinic in Westport, CT so I can help my Mom this weekend at the furniture/fabric store she runs with her boyfriend. She needs help setting up an eBay account and learning how to use the computer. So I figured I would go down there to help her out with some stuff for the weekend to try to make up for some of the help she's given us lately. I do a lot around the house but she generally pays my brothers to go down there, so I know they need the help. Of course I don't expect her to pay me because I owe her a lot more than I could make in a weekend no matter what. But the clinic in Norwalk, I guess, is having an issue with my non take-home status. Because I refuse to stop smoking weed, I don't get take-homes. I have to drive to the clinic everyday to get my dose. That is my choice. I smoke weed and I accept the consequences of doing so in our society, in the current climate which does not entirely accept the smoking of marijuana. Don't I have the right to believe that some laws are not logical? Or have, perhaps, been designed to benefit a certain sector of the business world and are held in place by financial pressure from big business and the governments that work hand in hand to promote such underhanded tactics. Don't I have the right to argue against laws which seem to cause more harm than good to our society? I think I not only have a right, but I have a responsibility to rage against the machine.......

.....And basically, this is where I was in my thought process when life happened today and I was forced to carry on with the things nobody wants to do but everyone (almost) has to do. Brothers, roommates, mothers, everyone needs me to do something for them. As usual. So first I needed a shower, then to the bank, grocery store, home, and I've already made mini mango tarts, cupcakes, and homemade chicken soup. I'm awesome. Especially for someone raising a family who never had kids or got married. I received an instant family.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

I'm having a hard time writing anything lately. I've felt drained, tired, unbalanced, and uninspired. I feel as if I have a lot I need to do. Keep my Mom's house clean and orderly, dig out last year's tax forms from the storage space, clean, like, every closet and drawer in the entire place because my Mom is a pack rat, create an e-bay site for her store in Westport, and try to find time to re-write a more current version of my own business plan. And I wanted to take advantage of the warm weather and rake the front lawn today. I should probably make that a priority because my Mom, not so wisely, moved to a small, tidy, suburban neighborhood where we have become the freaks on the block. People who are very quiet and typical have been forced to witness the police arresting people from here, my sister chasing her boyfriend around the yard in her car, even cadaver dogs searching their yards for my brother whom my Mother was convinced had shot himself (he didn't). So I think I should do what I can to make them hate us as little as possible, at least over anything new. I'd like for my sister to move out and then we could try to become as invisible as possible. So, back to the topic at hand, which is that I have to put off all the other crap to rake the front lawn. Mostly because my siblings are disgusting and throw cigarettes, tea bags, and other various trash type items all over the driveway and lawn. Why? Probably because they are lazy and thoughtless. And they figure that someone else, namely my Mom or myself, will clean it up eventually.

So, I really have nothing to write about. Or rather, I have plenty I could write about, but am not going to because I feel crappy and tired. And I have a lot to do. So, until later.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Botanic Inspiration

If you want to check out the website of today's inspiration:

Today's pictorial inspiration: Greenhouses. But not just any greenhouses, Hartley Greenhouses. They are officially approved by the Royal Botanic Gardens Kew, so they must be the best. As if I actually know what the RBGK is and what their standards are. I imagine, however, that they are quite high. Queen of the Greenhouse. They are absolutely gorgeous! And it is my goal to one day have one, albeit a small one is likey all I will ever be able to afford. I would love to be able to maintain a lush indoor garden during the winter months. It's so invigorating to be able to stand behind the glass in a tropical room while watching the snow fall. It really blasts the winter blues, it would be fabulous for anyone with seasonal affective disorder. I don't really get winter blues, but I still can see myself benefitting from having a winter greenhouse. Think of all the herbs you could grow to cook with all winter. Fresh basil in January would be divine. Even tomatoes, and flowers; think of all the possibilities.

I don't think I'll ever be able to afford anything as luxurious as these, but here's to dreaming!
I love the look of real glass with a brick foundation. Of course, the more typical plexi-glass houses are perfectly functional and I will probably have to settle for one of those, if I'm lucky. But the real glass just makes them look sturdy yet still regal in a way. There is something magical about greenhouses, about anything, really, that has the power to create something that doesn't seem possible. A greenhouse does something to plants that doesn't happen naturally, plants aren't supposed to be that green and lush in winter; in summer they also create an artificial environment that seems somewhat unnatural. The environment within can be regulated to such a degree that the plants are living in their ideal climate, all the time. It's as close to perfection as you can get in the plant world. It creates a surreal experience.

For someone who has spent a large portion of my life experimenting with ways to avoid and/or alter reality, a greenhouse like this would fulfill a certain purpose. I feel calmed by plants and lush, green environments. An escape, right in my own backyard, a place that would serve to transport me to a quiet, peaceful, magical world would be a dream come true.

More true to my goofy side, I have this other, older greenhouse dream. I've always been obsessed with Volkswagon busses. I've always wanted to get a really old VW model, like from the late fifties, early sixties, the ones with the split front window and all the little windows on the sides. So the top is already mostly glass. Then I want to cut out the roof and put in glass and use it as a greenhouse. I know that would not appeal to everyone, but imagine it at the end of a fieldstone path surrounded by by beautifully maintained gardens, So it would merely be quirky, not junky. You would have to fully restore the exterior, so there was no rust. And give it a nice paint job, have the work expertly done. And it could be super cool. Or use it as a garden tool shed. I will do it someday. I swear on it.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Positively Perfect Palominos

These are my picks for today for my post about something positive to help remind me of my goals. I know it probably seems so typical; girl loves horses, what's new? But I guess I just have to accept the obvious, and admit that, yes, I am just another girl who loves horses. I used to want to be a cowboy when I was really little. And because I went to that crazy school I could get away with crazy outfits. I loved to wear my whole cowgirl get up, the boots, jeans, even the hat. But I eventually took riding lessons and it ended up being in the English style. No fancy saddle, no horn to hold onto. But I loved it, and I was pretty good. So I rode and did 4H and other shows for a bunch of years until I went away for school. Then it was too hard to find time to care for them the way they needed to be cared for. We had a couple horses at our own house by then; my dad had built a really crazy, not very functional, but very beautiful barn against a hill in our back yard. It was really sad to sell my horse, she was a really pretty quarter horse named Middy. But anyway, I really haven't ridden in, like, at least ten years, maybe more. And one of my goals is to start again. I want to take lessons somewhere locally. Just once or twice a week at first. Maybe I can find somewhere that will trade labor for lessons. It would be great exercise and I would feel like I was doing something true to myself. Anyway, the pictures are of Palomino horses. If I ever have my own horses again some day, I want one to be a Palomino. I've always thought they were so beautiful. I like how their mane and tail are lighter than their coats. They are so golden and light-filled. Anyway. Positive something for today.
Oh my God, I am practicing some serious control over my emotions right now. I can't fuckin stand this asshole in my mother's kitchen. He just tried to use one of my Mom's linen dishtowels to soak up the grease from his bacon, that he took out of OUR refrigerator. And I'm the asshole for stopping it, and saying, "Are you fuckin daft?". Who does that? I mean really, who in their right fuckin minds does that? In someone's home? Someone ELSE"S home? I mean seriously???????? I hate, hate, hate him!!!!!! I really can't stress it enough. I tell them to use a paper bag, because they don't know what to do with themselves if there are no paper towels. Oh my God, what will we do? Nellie won't buy paper towels for you all to use as if they fall from the sky for free. Along with the eggs, milk, coffee, bacon, sugar, stove gas, electricity......

Why is he even here? He's married to some woman who is domestically employed by his family, get this though, he only married the woman so she would pay him to make her legal. How illegal is that??? Who do I call to report it? Does anyone know? Has anyhow dealt with that before? I mean, it's against the law on so many levels. Besides the fact that he is committing tax fraud, he's exploiting this poor woman to the nth degree. He's taking her money for his "payment", so she basically is being forced to work for nothing now because she feels indebted to his family. How fucked is that?? I mean, I'd feel bad for the woman, but really she should have to go through the same route as everyone else who wants to be a part of this country. Unless they were truly in love. But this purely a financial arrangement. I am sort of resentful of people who immigrate to this country and work for nothing because they take jobs away from people like me. So I'm competing for a spot against people who will either work for nothing and won't ever complain, and then on the opposite end of the spectrum are the people who are totally over qualified for the job but willing to work for less because jobs are so scarce. But anyhow, that's not the issue at hand. The issue is that I am willing to compromise my typical code of ethics by which I live just to get rid of this bloodsucking LEACH!!!!!! Would he be put in jail for something like that? Probably not, right? Unless he has a record, maybe, which he does, for sure. But not in the realm of tax evasion, just theft, drugs, domestic violence, destruction of property, assault, stuff like that. I sit and I think what can I do, what can I do, what can I do??? I can't murder him, obviously. Although, if this were the Wild West or something, he might just go off on a hunting trip and not return. But I could never get away with anything like that, and when it came down to it, I don't think I would have it in me to kill someone. (Although sitting here listening to him rant about all the drugs he's done to my little brother, is not redeeming him any. Sure, Sam is twenty, not ten, but still, is it necessary to sit here and go on and on and on about how much acid he bought and did when we were all teenagers. Nobody cares, we've all been there, we've all been on Phish lot, we've all sold drugs, we've all been spun, we've all travelled across and back across the country. Well, maybe Sam does think it's interesting, but it's not the kind of bragging he needs to hear. Way to be a good role model, asshole). I can't stand him. But is that enough to justify becoming a rat for the first time in my life? Is it okay to be a fink if the thing you're finking on is really wrong? I'm really not sure, I don't want to create really bad energy for myself. But maybe in the long run, I'd be doing her a favor. I think she would be better off going through the proper, albeit poorly designed, system rather than suffering through a modern version of indentured servitude. But maybe I'm wrong, and my dislike of this moron is clouding my vision.

Oh, and now the Mega Douche is downstairs, screaming like a banshee. She has no levels besides pretending to be civil and nice and then super insane bitch. There is no such a thing as reasoning with her, she can't have a logical argument with anyone. If you try to talk to her about anything, if you disagree with anything there is just no talking to her. She just starts screaming and swearing over everything you try to say. She tries to get you to her level, where you're screaming and flipping out too. But I have made it my goal to not be like that, ever again, with anyone, for any reason. It gets you nowhere. That's not to say I don't get upset, and that sometimes I react in a way I wish I hadn't after the fact. But I do everything in my power to stay calm and logical. I don't swear at her, or call her names. Despite her repeating, at the top of her lungs, over and over, "Fat fucking bitch, Loser, why don't you go suck a big, fat dick. Why don't you go eat some more, fat ass. Shut the fuck up you stupid cunt, all you do is sit around and do nothing but eat. Why don't you go back to school and do something, loser". How do you talk to someone like that? How? I just don't know. Everything I try, just doesn't make any impact, nothing works with her. You'll think you're getting along, you'll think you connected and she'll bitch to you about school, and her sucky, dirty boyfriend, and her schoolwork, she'll ask for help editing her paper, she'll eat the dinners I make and leave her dishes out in the hallway for me to do; and then without warning, she'll turn on you, just like that. Like just this last time she turned from "normal" to nasty because she decided that her boyfriend was coming to dinner at the very last minute and I was like, "Lily (sigh) I asked you, I asked everyone who would be here for dinner so I could plan for the portions. So I could buy the right amount of food. This wouldn't be so frustrating if I hadn't just asked and you said he would not be here." I didn't say he couldn't eat, I didn't freak out. But it goes from that to "Fuck You, we wouldn't want for you to lose any weight, NELLIE! You fat bitch, spend all day in the kitchen eating all the food, you fucking bitch". It sounds like I'm making it up, but really I'm not. She's that crazy. She can't have a disagreement and talk it out, ever. It's really frustrating.

The best thing would be if I just didn't have to be anywhere near her. That was the solution I've opted for until recently. But I've been holding in this anger and resentment for all these years because I feel like I was driven out of my own home because of her. I know that my Mom, like Jeannie so wisely pointed out, puts up with it because she doesn't know what to do about it, because she doesn't want my sister to hate her, and I think she also thinks I'm more capable of doing things for myself. But that sucks. Lily's more damaged, so she gets away with everything, because my Mom doesn't want to hurt her feelings? It's made my life really hard, my childhood was marked by Lily's outbursts, there was never any peace once Lily turned twelve or thirteen. And before that she wasn't right either, but she was a little girl. A little blond, blue-eyed girl, so people assumed she was innocent. Anything but. She would hit my brother when no one was looking, and then when he finally retaliated she would go rat on him, crying wolf all the time.

I'll always remember the exact day I knew for sure that something wasn't right. The first day her behavior scared me. We were on the swing set in our back yard and me and Scooter were swinging happily until Lily came out. She began to throw mud and rocks at Scooter for no other reason than she was clearly jealous that we were playing together on the swings and she has never known how to deal with anything, right from the start. And a lot of people would probably blow it off as normal kid stuff, as was undoubtedly Helen's take on the situation for years, "Oh, she's just a kid, she's jealous, she'll grow out of it". But she never has grown out of it. And it wasn't just kid stuff, she had a malicious look in her eye that day. Like the creepy movies you watch about children murderers; watching her was like watching a little blond angel rip the wings off an injured bird laying in the grass, and smiling. When the rocks and dirt didn't get him off the swing, she became more physical, trying to grab at him as he passed back and forth. Mind you, she was probably only five or six years old, but she had a mission. She wanted him off that swing, no matter what it took. She finally decided to take a stronger stance and she got behind him, as he came up for the back swing and she pushed, with all her might. And Scooter went flying forward, into the mud, and the rocks littering the dirt below him from her earlier projectiles. His hands were cut from the rocks, his face was cut from pounding the ground with his cheek, and he was crying in no time. And what did Lily do? She smiled, briefly, clearly, maliciously, and the she turned heel and ran inside crying that Scooter had hit her. And did she get reprimanded? Oh, no, Scooter did. Because she lied, and she's been perfecting her skills ever since. Scooter was sent to his room, and Lily got to swing. Alone. Because I have been wary of her ever since. You would think that the physical evidence of attack on my brother would argue in his favor. But it happens time and again that Lily physically injures people and gets away with it on the premise of self-defense. "I only hit him because he was swinging at me."

I really, and truly, believe that she has a mental disorder of severe standing. I believe she would stab me in my sleep, if she thought she would get away with it. I lock my doors. Especially after the day she was sitting in the living room, with everyone in the family, smoking a bowl, and out of the blue, for no known reason, Lily announces to us all that she would have no problem dismembering someone if she were high enough. Who says that? Who thinks about that? She worries me a great deal. And worse, she's studying to be a teacher for elementary school age children. She's doing her student teaching right now. Even if she manages to get through school, it's going to be really hard for her to find a job once employers conduct a back ground check on her. Most schools don't like to hire teachers with prior drug and assault charges. Not to mention she was let go from her last teaching job after she brought weed to the school and the whole classroom could smell it. It's the thought of people like her that make me wary of having kids to begin with. Looks can be deceiving. The kids will sometimes say mean things to her, like your dress is ugly; and rather acting like an adult, she'll reply, "Well, your dress is ugly". She comes home and tells us this, as if it's funny. She's crazy, totally crazy.

Well, I just really needed to vent. And I needed a way to keep busy while sitting here keeping the corner of my eye on them so they don't do anything drastically stupid. Like burn down the house. But they are finally clearing out. So I need to clean up after them so I can cook my own breakfast, and Sam and Mikey's too. Then I'll vacuum, turn all the thermometers down that I know have been turned up to seventy (thanks LILY). I know without looking because I'm sweating profusely just sitting here. They don't pay for it, so who cares?

Thursday, March 4, 2010

This is a picture of me at the beach in Hampton Beach NH.
I love the ocean. I'm not sure if I prefer the ocean in winter, or summer.
The beach in winter is nice because there aren't a lot of people, laying all over the sand, that you have to wind around to walk along. It's quiet and you can very clearly hear the water and the seagulls. You can bring your dogs to the beach in winter, and nobody cares. You can eat lobster at the seaside fry shacks, and it's much cheaper than in the summer. And it's very easy to find a place to sit. It's easy to find parking as well. You can park right in front of the sand, in any spot you like, there are so few other cars it kind of looks as if you were parked in the middle of the road.
But in the summer, there are so many people that it seems like a party everyday. All the stores are open and it's balmy and the salt makes your skin feel tight. There are ice cream stands open late into the night. You can swim without a wetsuit, and lay in the sun. Get a tan, wear hardy any clothes and it's entirely acceptable.
Maybe I'm simply being lazy right now, but if you go by my pro/con list, the winter is clearly better. Which is weird, I would have thought the summer would have many more positives. I'm sure I've left many out.

Despite the fact that I'm going through some major transitions lately, and even though I'm uncomfortable and stressed out a lot, I'm really trying to focus on changing the patterns that brought me to this place. I want to make choices that create a different life for me. I want to feel successful and happy, like I've done something that meant something. So every post, I want to include something that reminds me of a positive goal of mine.
So, I started with some easy and obvious. I've always been into learning about natural medicine and health. I've kind of let my interests in that area fall to the wayside as my health as deteriorated over the fast few years. I want to regain my health and reignite the interests I once had. I've always wanted to study at Kripalu Yoga and Meditation Center in Massachusetts. So here is a pic of their catalog, to remind me of what I love.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Can you Smell the Rage from there??

Is there even a way to fix things that have been broken for too long? For example: A chair breaks, if you fix it immediately, it may be okay, if it wasn't all that broken to begin with. But if you were to put it aside in the garage or something and wait five years, the chair would be so much more work to fix. Because now it's not just that a leg has been snapped, now the actual wood is corroding and you have to get a whole new peice. With a lot of repairs, it could be almost like new again, but never quite right. Aren't people like that too? If you don't fix the problems when they first start, it's that much more difficult to fix them at all. My family is a corroded chair thrown in the garage. Is it even worth fixing? Personally, I take chairs like that to the dump. Is there a dump for people????? I guess that would be like a jail or a state mental institution. And everyone in my family would probably fit the bill for either one of those places, sadly enough. My Mom and I would go to the loony bin, both my brothers would go to jail, and my sister would only be suited to a prison hospital, since she is a criminal and a psychotic.

I really wish I could put hidden cameras all throughout the house so professionals could see what I have to deal with. People think that if there is not overt physical abuse then there isn't anything that bad to deal with. But I've read articles about how psychological abuse can even cause post traumatic stress disorder. And that's if you take away the fact that whenever my brothers get angry, everyone in their path is in physical danger too. This morning alone, my youngest brother didn't like that my mom and I had our voices raised so he threw the laundry basket down the stairs at us. Then he came storming down, spit flying, voice hoarse with screams, flailing fists like a mini man hurricane of anger. He threw a punch a couple of centimeters from my face and then when I sat down in a chair he tried to wing the top of the cat tower at my head, but in his irate haste he misjudged and it hit my Mom in the head on the couch at the other side of the room. Then he started to scream about Mikey in response to me telling him that I hope the time that my Mom is gone works really well for him since I won't be buying him or anyone else any cigarettes, because I don't smoke. And I won't be driving him back and forth across town five times a day to get weed, and neither will Mikey. I wouldn't be doing his dishes, washing his clothes, making his meals, that I basically would no longer be his surrogate Mother. That's when he starts in on how neither of us do anything for anyone and he doesn't care, blah, blah, blah......and Mikey (who, what a surprise, didn't make it very far for very long, is back) thinks it would be a good idea to pop his head out of our dungeon space living quarters and ask if Sam has something to say to his face. And then later he acts as if he were actually defending me instead of himself. Because I didn't need nor ask for his help. I do just fine myself in arguments. See, I've learned that you almost always win if you stay logical and make sense and don't act like an idiot. Then you just have more weight behind you to back up the fact that you must be right, because you're not the one acting like a freak. It works for police and politicians ALL the time, so why not me? So when Mikey puts himself on my side w/out my asking and then proceeds to act like an ass, that pisses me off and makes things worse. So then him and and my little brother start fighting, Sam lunges at him and it gets physical. Then, my Mother always has to jump in the fray. So I'm yelling at them all to let go of each other, they're hurting my Mom, and they're rolling around on the kitchen floor, and my Mom's screaming, and I'm yelling at her now to just get away from them or she's going to get hurt. But in a fight no one wants to be the first person to let go because the other person might use that as an excuse to throw a sucker punch. But eventually they realized that they were hurting Helen (my Mom) and they separated. And then they act like nothing even happened and right away Mikey's all, "Hey Sam, I'll smoke you up". And I'm like "No, you won't, this is what the whole argument has been about". I get stuck in the middle because my siblings use all of their allotted money for the time Helen is away, and then they have nothing, no cigarettes, no weed, no money for food or gas, nothing. So then they start acting like horrible monsters, everyone has to walk on eggshells around them or another scene ensues where they are throwing things at you and screaming and calling you names. So I end up buying them that shit with my personal money or they money that Helen left me for taking the dog to the vet and buying groceries for everyone. She originally left me all their money too, to dole out as they needed it so it didn't get spent all at once, but that was a nightmare as you can probably imagine. Then EVERYTHING was my fault and I wasn't buying the right things and Lily didn't have enough of this or that. So I told my Mom I wasn't doing that anymore. So they have their own money allotted to them. But, like I said, they spend it all in about three days or less, and we're talking, like, a couple hundred dollars, not twenty bucks. So then she'll leave two hundred extra dollars in a "household" account that only I can access but then that makes me the middle man and puts me in a really horrible situation. I don't have a license but they're always bossing me around telling me they need this or that and they think I have all this secret money hidden away that I use to buy myself lavish things. And I'm so mean that I won't just give them what they want. They don't understand that that money is for emergencies or milk when we run out in four days, they don't understand the concept of planning and thinking ahead. So I end up doling out all that money in about two more days because now it's going to Lily, Sam, and Scooter because none of them have any of their own money left and so without fail, every week Mikey and I end up going through almost all of the money we live off on our own, which isn't very much honestly. I split Mike's unemployment with him every week which pays for my methadone, gas to get there, food for us and then, like, incidentals such as toothpaste, weed (which we hardly smoke very much of at all these days), shampoo and crap like that. I hate to admit it, but my dependence on that little bit of money is a huge reason why I am not more firm about Mike leaving. Because I have a bit of tax money I'm waiting for, but that will only go so far. I have to pay all my fines to get my license back and then Mike will take the car when he leaves, so it would leave me with very little money and no car. I maybe could buy a crapper with what's left after fines, or I could try to find a job within walking distance, but that's not proving very fruitful as of yet. So I feel really stuck and super pressured by parties on all sides. What's new? This has been my life for as long as I can remember. I know what I need to do in order to get where I want to be. I just never seem to be able to find an environment to reside in that stays stable enough, long enough for me to accomplish anything. Does that make sense? I feel like people are always making me feel as if everything really is within my control and I'm just always not making the right choices. But I feel like I try SO, SO hard to do the right thing, and work hard, and plan ahead and then something crazy, totally out of my hands happens. And I'm sort of left floundering and I have to sort of start all over again to figure out how this new situation works. And it just takes so long that way to get anywhere new, it seems so daunting that sometimes I just want to give up even trying. Not, like, kill myself. I can't stress enough how much I despise people who kill themselves. And I hate even more the people who simply act like they're going to kill themselves and then don't. Cry for help motherfuckers. Sorry to anyone who may be in that category and thinks I'm being insensitive; but I've had to live side by side with too many people who have pulled that crap. It's so hurtful to the people in your life, it's selfish and cowardly. I know there are certain instances when people have imbalances that are so severe that they really don't know what else to do, and I guess I feel a little sorry for those folks, but I feel more sorry for the people they left behind.

I think I must have been around eight years old the first time I remember being told that my Mom had tried to kill herself. She must have already had a history of being overly dramatic and self-absorbed, but I was a little kid and just saw her as my Mom still. I remember my aunt came to pick me and Scooter, my brother and the second oldest in the family, up from school. At the time we were going to The Atrium School, in Watertown, Massachusetts. It was this really liberal, artsy, private school where, looking back, all the teachers and administrators must have had their heads up their asses. I didn't get taught that you have to add numbers from the left to the right until I was almost ten years old. I just thought you were supposed to be able to look at them and know what they added up to. I just didn't understand how everyone could do it so quickly once the numbers we added got into the hundreds and thousands. Finally, one of them realized what I was trying to do and explained the correct, and much easier, way to do it. I remember being amazed. I had, at that point, acted out several Greek plays, made a Maypole and danced around it, disintegrated the shells of eggs with vinegar, made numerous cloth dolls, and gone on several treasure hunts. I could read anything, upside down and backwards. But I had no idea how to add. I guess they had certain priorities. But anyhow, back to the tale. We were picked up by my aunt, and I was surprised not to see my Mom. I always knew when my Mom was supposed to pick us up because usually on the days she didn't pick us up we had to carpool with my friend Jacob and his mom. And when we had to ride with him the car was always crowded and it smelled like baby poop and vomit, except when his little sister farted, which was often, and then we had the added benefit of two different poo smells. Yummy. I felt like I was going to puke the whole time. Every ride with them was a feat, a challenge of whether or not I could keep my stomach from ejecting it's contents. I dreaded those days. So I was highly concerned when I saw Meg rather than my Mother in the designated pick-up line. I was always an overly thoughtful, anxious person. Ever since I was born, my mother always said. My siblings were always fighting with each other and I would be sitting away from them saying, "It's not me Mom, right? You're not mad at me right?". And she would be trying to yell at them and turn to me finally and yell, "NO, NELLIE! I'm not yelling at you, am I? Just mind your own business". Or some such thing. Even to this day, she wants me to this or that, and I do it, and I try to please everyone, and she calls me a goody-two shoes. I just can't make her see me for who I am, which is sincerely a thoughtful person. I'm not doing what I do to get anything but respect and thoughtfulness in return. I don't want money, I don't want clothes or her car. I just want peace and consideration.

So Meg was there waiting for us, we climbed into her beat up old Volvo and asked where our mom was. She told us at that point only that Helen was in the hospital because she had been sick. Clearly we were worried as any children would be upon hearing such news. We rode in silence until we had made our way from Watertown over to Cambridge where my grandmother lived. But for some reason we didn't head to Grammy's house, and I really don't know what was going on as I've never asked for clarification from anyone who was old enough at the time to remember details, instead we stopped at O'Leary's which was a bar that my grandfather frequented. We were told to wait in the car while Meg ran in. She must have gone there to speak with either my grandfather, grandmother, or my Uncle Marty who may have been gathered there. So my mom's in the hospital after attempted suicide and we stop at the bar? Does anyone else think that's weird? Anyhow, from there I remember being brought back to our own house, over in East Cambridge. We lived close enough to the Charles River that we could see the Fourth of July fireworks from the roof of our townhouse, we could smell the chocolate from the factories that were next to the science museum. And I suppose we must have waited there with my aunt until my mom was released from the hospital.
I don't remember anyone trying to explain anything to us. I remember the hectic, anxious feelings in the air. I recall people rushing around and different family members coming and going. I don't know where my father was in all of this. I do know that was what we have always been told set it off that time. Helen and my father had separated, and she must have had some altercation with him. For a minute I almost confused this first time with another time. In the other incident, it was a weekend day and Helen decided to surprise my dad with fuckin donuts on a Sunday morning. And she finds him with some woman who worked for him. I guess, the story goes, she was sitting in the dining room with my father's shirt on and my mom walks in with home made donuts. I'm sure she made a scene. Probably donuts flew through the air. Sugar and cinnamon dripping down the front of the white collared shirt. But why, honestly, did she think he wanted his own place? So he could NOT fuck other women? At that point, after multiple infidelities, a woman has to make a choice. She either dumps the cheating bastard because she knows she can't live like that and he can't be faithful. Or she reconciles herself to what is the harsh reality and she finds some hot dude to fuck herself while continuing to live the life to which she has come accustomed. I would have respected her more had she made either one of those choices. But she picked an alternate course of action. Play the martyr and try to change an unchangeable situation; until everyone is so fucked up and angry that there is no foreseeable peace for anyone in the near future. Our life has been warped into this cluster-fuck of resentment, jealousy, anger, and depression.

And still, at almost sixty years old, my mother is not much different from that woman who was slumped in her bed in her East Cambridge townhouse with a wine bottle in her hand and make-up dripping down her face, blubbering to her three small children while they huddled in the doorway, unsure if there was anything they could do. We're still not sure what we can do when she decides she can't take anymore of the life she created. Not more than two nights ago she broke down because she spent too much money on Sam for his birthday, my brother Scooter went nuts with her credit card in NYC on a date with some girl he just met, my sister didn't act grateful when my mother told her that the Prius she drives everyday would be fixed by the next day; so that was it, nobody loves her, everybody hates her, guess she'll go make empty suicidal threats until we all want to pull our hair out. And the scene could have been any one from our childhood, only all of us are a little taller now. My Mom is freaking out on our siblings and I'm telling her to just calm down, she's overreacting and everyone is just tired. I tell her to leave the dishes and I'll do them very early so she won't even see them. And she turns and screams at me that she doesn't WANT me to do the dishes! Why don't I mind my own business, she knows how to run a home! So, same as twenty-five years ago, my siblings are spoiled to no end, act like assholes, my mom takes it out on me because they don't care when she's angry or upset and she needs someone to show a reaction so she fights with me instead when I'm just trying to be helpful and calm things down.

So, clearly, there is a lot more going on here than I could ever explain in crappy rant. But I'm sick and tired of having to deal with and clean up after this mess of monsters that Helen has created by never, ever setting ANY limits. She just throws money at anything that inconveniences her. If my sister is calling everyone big, fat fuckin cunts and calling the police on herself, my mom gives her money to go to a hotel for the night. Does anyone else agree that that is simply rewarding shitty behavior? I do. My sister thinks she's supposed to act like that, the worse she acts, the more she gets. Same with everyone. Except me, if I act out, even a little bit, or even if I'm not being unreasonable, if I'm just even questioning something my mother or someone is doing, I get attacked. She's thrown me out more times than I can remember before I even turned eighteen because I would try to tell her how to raise her kids. I'd tell her Lily was fucking twenty-five year olds and smoking cigarettes when she was fourteen, and my brother was doing acid at the dinner table, and she'd tell me to get the fuck out, I wasn't the parent and I was starting problems. She still resents me for pointing out the negative and wanting solutions. NO NELLIE! We look the other way, pretend it doesn't matter and let it eat away at our insides until we are so raw and bleeding that we need blood transfusions because the stress has caused ulcers that bleed through our ass, like you MOM.

Wow, I'm angry today. When I get treated the same as I did when I was sixteen, I get so angry, I want to burst. I don't even know what to do because I know that nothing I can say or do will matter. I just have to bide my time, try to get out alive, try to care more about myself, stop thinking that if I'm just nice enough, calm enough, if I do enough, if I clean enough than my mother will see that I'm good and and my siblings are not. That will never happen, she will never limit them, she will never reprimand them, she will never put her foot down, she will let them suck every single drop of energy from her and she wants me to do the same and I can't! I don't want for her to not love them, you can love someone who you think is wrong, you can tell them you don't love their actions while you still love them. She thinks that setting limits is the same as limiting her love for them. I think that if she loved us all more, she would have set limits when we we younger, she wouldn't have let us do whatever we wanted. Didn't she worry about us, worry is love, is caring. Letting your pre-adolescent children smoke cigarettes is not love, it nuts.

I have to go eat something before I faint. I can't not eat anything all day long like my mother and sister. Being a size zero is not worth my health and sanity, sorry. I won't starve myself because they think I'm fat! I'm so fucking tired of other people telling me I'm fat. Or talking about how fat they are in front of me when the are a size zero! Or telling me not to eat a brownie on my brother's birthday, it'll make it so I don't lose weight. Maybe I'm not all that concerned about my weight. I know I could stand to lose some, and I am, slowly. That's good enough for me. And lots of people still seem to find me attractive, so perhaps, Helen, it's possible to enjoy life and eat good foods and still people will love you even if you have a little roll on your tummy. I like having tits and an ass. I think they want to starve me so I look like a plank or a little boy, just like them. FUCK THEM! That's how I feel today, just fuck them all!

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

A Quick Morning Rant

Ah, taking advantage of the few moments of peace and quiet before the whole house is alive with the raging personalities of those I now live with. Amazingly, everyone is still asleep. That's kind of unusual for a Tuesday morning, or any morning for that matter. Generally, my Mom is buzzing around me, picking up my coffee cup, to put in the sink, before I've finished drinking it or vacuuming under my feet. All the while on the phone or dictating plans for the day, hour, or week. I love my Mom, she is, of course, the woman who gave me my life. But she can be insanely overbearing, over-dramatic, and over-sensitive.

I'm trying to write this post and drink my coffee, just chilling. But I really need to clean up the mess from last night's Birthday dinner for Sam. It's a mountain of plates and platters, water and wine glasses. And I hate the way they load the dishwasher and my Mom will be put out if it's not done and I'm just sitting here writing. She'll say it's fine, she doesn't WANT me to do it, just stay out of the kitchen. But inside she'll be fuming, thinking I'm ungrateful and lazy. So I'm off to do some dishes, and then I'll pop back.....

Okay, finished all the crap that can be put in the dishwasher. We aren't allowed to put real silver, or ceramic painted serving platters in there. I guess they chip, which makes sense. So now I just have about five bowls, three or four pots and pans, some casserole dishes and all the silverware. And of course I know that nobody cares about this. But it's a more or less a permanent way to have proof of the shit I do. Blogger logs the time and date so I can't be accused of lying or tampering with facts. So when I have to defend myself to my Mom because of whatever (most likely because my sister is asserting I did or didn't do this or that), I can pull up this post and say, "See, remember this day, or that day, and remember I did all this work?". And then she can't claim I didn't. We've also begun to video tape my sister when she's being psycho so we can show my Mom when she's not here. And maybe one day we'll show Lily herself so she can see how horrible she looks when she's acting like that. Oh, look at me going on and on..........Listening to Joni Mitchell, and still the house is QUIET, it's a miracle.

Well, I made it pretty far into the morning with some peace and solitude. Except for the animals, but I much prefer animals to people. My brother came downstairs just as I was finishing up the final dishes. Kitchen is finally clean. Now it will probably stay that way for about an hour, if I'm lucky. I wish every morning could be this nice. I suppose that would entail me having to live alone, which I really don't want to do actually. I like living with other people most of the time. It's just that my family is made up of very temperamental people. Everyone has a short temper, including me. Some people here take it out in worse ways than others though. I may lose my temper and snap a bit, but I get over it very quickly and am ready to apologize when I'm wrong. And I only think I'm not as bad as the rest of them anymore because I've lived away from home long enough to learn that you can't act like that in public, in the "real" world. If you bug on the wrong person, you may get hurt. You can't swear at teachers, landlords, bosses, judges, police, neighbors, etc without suffering probable consequences. The rest of my family hasn't learned that because every time they piss off an outsider, they just pay their way out of it. And we're not really rich, so they end up spending a lot of money on lawyers and fines that could have been used for much more productive things. It's really frustrating that they haven't learned how to behave.

They take so much for granted, even each other. My sister and brothers just expect my Mom to support them. My Mom, thinking she's avoiding conflict, just gives in repeatedly to their expectations. So it's a real vicious cycle that's been created here, and I do not feel as if I have the power to stop it. I feel like the best way is to just try to stay calm and appreciative of all that I receive from this situation.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Warning: The following contains major bitching and complaining

I've really been trying to make a workable living situation with Mikey until we can get our store going and find our own places to live. But it's really getting worse and worse. He lives here with me at my my Mom's, for basically free, and he's just never happy. He compares his situation to that of my brother's, and he's jealous that they get everything from my Mom and do nothing. He doesn't understand that he's not her child and their situation just isn't his business, at all. He just needs to concentrate on his own problems and needs, as long as he has what he needs to be comfortable, and he's fulfilling his obligations, what is there to fret about? But all I hear is him complaining about not saving any money yet, and my brothers and sister do nothing and get hand outs, and why don't I clean the downstairs NOW, and why does my mother do this or that, and bitch, bitch, bitch. I just can't hear it anymore. Meanwhile, he sleeps until at least eleven every morning, while I get up no later than seven to go to the clinic. He's supposed to be driving me anyhow, because I have no license. So every day I drive myself is a gamble, I may get pulled over - but he just hates to get up early, and we wouldn't want that. Whaaa, whaaa, poor Mikey. It's seriously a toss up, would I rather go to jail or be stuck in the car with Mikey swearing at me or lecturing me for an hour and a half? It's really that awful to be with him in the morning that it's worth the risk to me, really, it is.
He makes me SO MAD!!! I was having an okay morning before he got up. It would have been better if my sister's boyfriend hadn't still been here, blabbing in our living room, even though my sister had left at seven. He hangs around bragging about how awesome a skier he is and telling us all kinds of shit we already know about the mountains. And I just really don't like him, he just rubs me the wrong way, and he has ever since I first met him when he was about thirteen. He's always been an obnoxious little fucker. He sits in my Mom's living room with his sweaty feet up on the coffee table, and lounges back on the couch as if he owns the place, in his stupid, saggy, yet somehow uncomfortably fitted long underwear. With his dried out, frizzy-ass, Cramer hair-do sticking up all over his greasy head, UGH! I really hate him. He screams everything he says and laughs this jarring, dog bark laughter; this series of HA, HA, HA"S as if he's caught you out on something. ICK! So maybe, afterall, my morning was sucky as soon as I got home from the clinic and walked into him commandeering the living room with his shady energy and scheming ways.

So I snuck into the dining room to try to create my own area of chillness. But, of course, I could still hear him, which begun this battle in my head of "I can do it, just relax and ignore him vs. Grrrr, I want to smack him and kick him in the ass right out the door". I managed to stay away from him until he left, but I couldn't shake the heavy, itching sensation in my chest, the feeling of unease. But I had my space in the dining room, with my tea and my computer, and it was getting late and I needed to eat something before it made me even more upset because my blood sugar begins to drop. I get really cranky when I'm hungry, so I decided to make an egg around my mother and her baking, because I was really hungry. See, my Mom had already started making my brother's Birthday Brownies (his request, rather than a cake), and she had stuff all over the kitchen counters. So right about then, Mikey comes stumbling upstairs with his hair sticking up all over his head and his eyes still filled with sleep. And he wants a cup of coffee, so I start that for him. All he had to do was push a button and then add milk and sugar. Simple. Then I felt obligated to ask him if he wanted one. But I wasn't really into making it for him, and things were hectic, but I cracked him two eggs alongside mine. But then I only put toast in for myself and he bugged out. Why couldn't I make him some too? But I've been up all morning, for hours, putting out the trash, cleaning up closets, driving to the clinic, and I'm hungry. He just got up, why can't he make his own toast and put his own plate together. Instead, he walks right into the dining room, sits down right in front of the laptop where I was sitting, and proceeds to minimize all my pages and check his own shit. All my stuff was there, I only got up to make the eggs, and he takes over my whole shit. And he does this, like, every time I sit anywhere with the computer. It really pisses me off. So I was bitching about it and telling him to make his own shit if he was going to consider my getting up to make food a good enough reason for him to consider me done with the computer. And he kept telling me to shut up and quit bitching. So my Mom told him, partially joking but sort of serious, to stop swearing at me and calling me names. And he got all huffy and collected all his stuff and stormed off. He said he wasn't eating his eggs now, either.
So I brought his stupid breakfast down to him and told him I hoped he choked on it while he was packing his shit so he could get the fuck out of my Mother's house. And he was all, "Mlyaa, fuck you, I am". So I hope he is, but I doubt it, because that would be too good to be true. I've been telling him to go to live with his own family now for months, so what would possibly have changed to make him finally leave now? Maybe he finally realized that I am really just trying to get the store going so we can both have money, but that's it. We're not a couple, how can we be? I can't be with someone for the rest of my life who treats me like a mix between his mother and his sister. I was willing to let him be my roommate until we got a store going, but he just can't stay here if he can't be grateful and pleasant more often than not.

Whatever, I'm almost done bitching for now. I'm sure I'm going to have to deal with his bullshit for the rest of the day. Which is going to suck because it's also Sam's birthday, and even though he's twenty he still thinks that everyone should only care about him today, and nothing else. He was horrified that me and my sister didn't remember to wish him happy birthday as soon as we saw him. (And I did wish him happy birthday before I went to bed last night, and it was almost midnight. So basically I was the first one to say it at all) I wasn't even thinking straight at that point. And I don't recall him being very pleasant to me on my birthday, in fact, everyone was an asshole that day. I'm sick of everyone thinking that they are the only ones who matter. And all the rest of us should bow down to their needs.

You know, I'll miss him to an extent when he's gone, but how can I ever move on with him here? I really don't want to be alone, at my Mom's house. That's, like, totally reverting to being at the level of a sixteen year old, only I'm thirty-one. But I just feel like he's not helping me to help us to move forward. He is too depressed and angry for me to be around, dealing with that shit is a waste of time. We have too much to get done if we are ever going to have a store. And really that was always his thing, not mine. But I do think it could make money and therefore give me a certain freedom from having to work shitty jobs. I'd have to work, of course, only it would be for myself. That's harder to give up than him, I think. Is that awful? I just want to be independent and I've got so far to go to be there. It seems so daunting. I just have to keep telling myself that it will work itself out, I will find a way for myself to be happy and feel useful. After the initial shitiness, I think that I could be a lot better off if Mikey would just go his own way. I don't care if he wants to go open his store on his own, or whatever. And I know he's going to be super unfair about what he takes, he'll try to take everything, and for the most part I really don't care about that either.

Right now I'm just pissed off at everyone. I'm mad at my Mom because she expects too much from me and not enough from anyone else. Even she herself admits this to be true. I really can't take it. I'm not perfect, at all. She never listens to anything I say, she will sit and whine to me all day and then if I have an issue it's "yeah, yeah, yeah, not now, Nellie. Don't ruin your brother's birthday". Well, today it's the birthday but it could be anything. It could be Lily's upset already, or it's already been too much with Scooter's problems. Because I always kind of went off on my own people figured I was fine. It's like that at the methadone clinic too. Because I'm the best of the worst they push me to the wayside. I may be an addict freak, but at least I'm not an addict freak who's pregnant or already has kids, or is living in a box or something. So I'm not the priority. I don't really need to be top priority, really. But it would be nice, once in a while, to be on the list at all.

Fuck this whiny shit. I need to go for a walk, pretend I don't live here and that I don't have to come back. Sorry for anyone who may have subjected themselves to this drivel. I'm not sure if that's correctly spelled, but I like the word so I'm keeping it. Have a Good One.

VV is the shit

VV is the shit
We all have to love VV