Here We Go Again.

Men, as a rule, are pretty good people. I love them, really. Frankly, I get them better than I do most women.

So why did I have to pick such a bastard?

Putney (see first post) is a Leo. For all I know a double Leo by the way he acts.

See, he's invited Son, and Baby Mama, to dinner today. I'm supposed to play "Holly Hostess".

The catch is that I've started on a blood pressure medicine (my 3rd) and I feel like hammered shit. I haven't had a shower in a week and I'm just so exhausted all the time I have to take showers in stages, let alone clean an entire house.

Now, realize that Putney is in constant pain. He has a pain doc who gives him all the cool meds so he can function. He even has a crippling tinnitus that can send him to bed for days at a time. I get that. I love him anyway.

Apparently, he's the only one who's allowed to be sick.

When I couldn't complete my "assigned duties", he told me he's had it and I'm going to have to leave.

Where the fuck am I supposed to go? I have no job, no relatives, and no money.

Meanwhile, his friend, I'll call "Jersey", came back from a trip to New Jersey and is spending his layover time here at the house. He saw how I was feeling and took the vacuum. May the Gods bless his sweet soul.

Why is it that Putney feels he has to be so emotionally brutal to me? What did I do to deserve this life? What Pan-Galactic size sin have I committed that requires such brutal treatment?

What ever happened to the Universal Law of Attraction? What am I putting out there that brings me all this misery? Hell, forget me, what about all the other women that are suffering even more than I am?

Well, I guess whatever happens I'll not be the only on living on the Streets. I just hope I can feed my dogs.

Aftermath

Just a quick follow-up to my last post.

Things have calmed down now. The Experiment has been removed. Roommate has been very nice, especially after I pointed out what TWO GREAT, BIG, FUCKING WARRIORS HE AND HIS SON ARE FOR TEAMING UP ON A WOMAN!

Rammstein has a song, "Mein Herz Brennt". My heart burns. That's how I feel. I'm so angry I have Hecate's own heart when I think about what happened. Trust me, it comes to me over and over again.

The feelings of guilt and helpless anger are constant companions, too.

One addition I didn't expect was the feeling of when the other shoe is going to drop.

What is roommate going to do to get back at me? For causing such a storm? For DARE destroying his rest, when his ears are ringing, and the pain in his arm is unbearable, blah, blah, blah de fuckin' blah. SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!

As I'd foretold in my earlier installment, roommate hasn't threatened to kick me out, or sell my bike, or any of those things.

It's just quiet. Too damn quiet for my comfort.

As sure as there is yin & yang, black & white, I'll pay for this little episode. Just how dearly remains to be seen.

I just had one hell of a meltdown.

I had just one HELL of an emotional meltdown. I'm writing this post to try to figure out why.

I'm taking my meds, just like I'm supposed to. The last couple of days I've felt out of energy, and when anything irritates me I way overreact to it.

In October, I lost my heart-dog, Jaws. He was a little black & tan chihuahua/ Pomeranian mix. I had the pleasure of his company for 12 years. I got him when I still lived in California, and he was with me when I moved to Texas. He was with me when I had to kick my ex out for cheating, when I lost my house, my car, and give my horses away. Jaws was always there when life was going good or bad. He always knew when I was on the verge of a meltdown, he stayed with me. When I was in the hospital following a suicide attempt, he stayed curled up on the corner of my bed, and didn't eat or drink anything until I got home. THAT'S LOVE. No one, not even my parents, ever loved me that much. Now he's gone, and I'm SOOOO lost.

I try not to let the world know how bad this hurts. I rarely cry, even in private, in case my roommate walks in. I think about him almost non stop.

You see, my roommate is in a lot of physical pain. All the time, 24/7, non-stop. He even has his own pain doctor. He's also diabetic. So everything is about "him". He constantly talks about his pain, the ringing in his ears, and a myriad of other complaints. He rarely, if ever, asks about me or about how I may feel about something. For him, I'm just a giant ear sitting there to absorb all of his complaints. It never occurs to him that that ear, like a bucket, may get full.

Know that I'm not a natural caregiver. Never have been. That's one of the reasons I never had children. I'm a selfish person, and selfish people have no business trying to care of other people, children or otherwise. Dogs are different. With them, once their needs are met, they have no problem making their whole day about YOU.

So you see, without Jaws, I have no one to talk to. No one that is CONCERNED when I leave the house. No one that watches me anxiously, even when I move from the living room to the kitchen. No one that just CARES.

Today, things came to a diabolical head. My roommate's son moved in. What an inconsiderate FUCK that punk is. Oh, he's nice enough on the surface. Like most of us, he can get along in a social setting. Especially if that social setting includes illegal substances.

Son's been here for two or three weeks. He skulks around the house, leaving empty water glasses everywhere. He does stupid and maddenly irritating things, like putting the dishes away, but leaving the dirty dishes behind for someone else to do. If you ask him do to something, or about something, or even have a little chat, he's always trying to out think you, as if he's trying to figure out what game you're playing so he can beat you to whatever punch you're playing toward. He doesn't even need to pay rent; I was just expected to absorb his third of everything.

In short, to me, he's a little fuckin' creep and I just want him out of my life.

Since he's been here, he's been experimenting with things that I vehemently disapprove of. Of course, this has roommates blessing. I've tried logically stating my case to roommate, no avail. I've yelled, tried the silent treatment, etc. Nothing.

Today, it came to a head.

I started it. For some reason, I'd had enough. I walked into son's room and asked him point blank when his little experiment would be over. He said "a couple of months." I hit the roof. Then roommate walks in and starts screaming that it's none of my business, etc. So, I scream back. I finally, finally was able to release all of the pent up worry and anger I felt toward son and his bullshit.

Then son said "Fuck you, too."

Mistake. Big. Fucking. Mistake.

I got in his face, slammed the heal of my hand into his chest, and screamed "How DARE you talk to me that way? You don't ever speak to me like that!" And hit him again.

After that, it gets blurry for me. I completely lost it. Roommate and I screamed about money I owe him. Do I owe him? Yes. Am I paying it? Yes. But he tells me not to worry about it. Then he brings it up during this argument. I flat out called him a liar. Stormed away from him, and pulled out his gun to kill myself.

Roommate and I struggled with it. Even though I'm a fat girl, I don't think he realized just how strong a fat girl can be. He couldn't get it away from me.

Finally, stupid son yells out "Should I call the police?" I scream back, "Please do, and I'll be happy to show them your little experiment!"

With that, I came to my senses a little bit, and dropped the gun. Roommate took the gun, and then started throwing chairs at me. As I'm trying to deflect the chairs coming at my head, son starts holding me back. As he's holding me, roommate starts to hit me. He slapped me in the face, punched me in the stomach, and a bunch of other stuff that happened too fast for me to remember.

When roommate finally stopped hitting me, he picked up the gun and put one in the chamber. Son let go and I just stood there, looking at roommate. Roommate screams "I have one in the chamber, happy? Happy?" I just stood there, spread my arms and said "Shoot. Please, just shoot." PRAYING to whatever Gods were listening that he would.

Things have simmered down now, so here I sit. What's going to happen? Let me tell you. I'll be kicked out of here. Since I have no job, I'll be sleeping in the car, my dogs at a shelter. My dogs will be put to sleep, and perhaps by then I'll have succeeded in finally killing myself, having convinced the Gods that they made a mistake in having permitted me to live.

I wish, more that anyone could ever know, that this didn't happen. I wish that I didn't have to go so far to be heard.

Most of all, I just wish that I had Jaws back.

I'm Not Racist, I Hate Everyone.

I get home from work today and see on TV how Dr. Laura is ending her radio show over her use of the word "nigger".

Now, I like Dr. Laura. I certainly don't agree with everything she espouses, but for the most part she makes good sense and a lot of people have benefited from her simple, common sense wisdom.

Being a naturally curious person (read: nosy) I researched the incident. I got on her website and read her (I believe) heartfelt apology.

Why should she apologize? Why should she leave radio?

My feeling: She shouldn't.

When taken in context, Dr. Laura wasn't referring to anyone as a nigger. She merely used the word as an example of a quirk in the African American culture.
If a white person says the word nigger, in ANY context, we're being racist. African-Americans call each other nigger, and it's a term of affection. In my opinion, Dr. Laura's stated opinion during the call in question is spot on.

Unfortunately, the career of one of the sanest people on the planet is ruined. Not because of the word she used, but because of 99% of the public who will see this story, and instead of THINKING LOGICALLY, they will go with their first knee-jerk reaction and condemn her.

If you are one of those people, shame on you.

Two Years Later, and Still Plugging Away

Next month, it'll be two years since I've posted the first installment of this blog. I was surprised to get two comments on it. I guess because this blog is so personal and really doesn't have anything socially relevant to say.

I'm still living in the same place, in a little house with my friend Putley. It's still better than marriage. We never argue or disagree on anything. We do stuff together from time to time, and live a very quiet, drama free life. Just the way I like it.

My chihuahua pack has grown to a grand total of five. I now have Jaws, Happy, Daisy, Cooper and BD. Jaws, Happy and BD have become my best friends in the entire world. I tell them that every day. I like animals better than people, because they don't lie, cheat, steal or betray you like some humans will.

Like most of the nation, I'm out of work. This last one is my own fault. I didn't get a long with a young girl (to me anyway, she's 20) who is sleeping with the boss. So guess who got let go when the first round of lay-offs came down? Yup, yours truly.

There isn't some bad without some good in it. At least I was able to get my friend an excellent job there before I was layed-off. He's doing great. He likes people better than I do.

Recently my body gave me a wake-up call. Not only do I have a bad time with Bi-Polar Disorder, I've just been diagnosed with Fatty Liver. Fatty Liver is when the fat cells blend in to the healthy liver cells. It leads to liver fibrisis, then to cirrohsis, then finally to liver cancer and death without a liver transplant.

According to my doctor, fatty liver doesn't usually cause pain, and most overweight people have it without even knowing it. Of course, not in my case. My liver is so swollen that it hurts most of the time, because it is pressing on the surrounding organs and the membrane that encases it.

Accordingly, I've vastly improved my diet, and am exercising as much as I am able. I do feel better, but the bad news is that I can't lose weight. Apparently the liver needs to eliminate the fat cells within itself before it can metabolize and dispose of the fat in the rest of my body. This may take a year or two, or it may never happen. We just have to see.

You know, I just had a thought. Health experts always warn the overweight people about high blood pressure, heart attacks, diabetes and other health problems. I've never heard them say one word about Fatty Liver. Hmmm...

Well, that's about it. Good luck and much love to those who happen across this little article.

Why Can't I Get Over This?

I'm kind of reluctant to get this personal, but since no one reads this blog, I guess it won't matter.

I was born in Redondo Beach, California. I lived in California until 2001, when we moved to North Texas.

The last place my ex and I lived was Perris, California. We owned a 3 bedroom, 2 bath stick built home. Two horses, two horse trailers, and a good Ford Lariat Dually to pull them with. I belonged to a equestian drill team, and had a great job, and my ex was steadily working for once. I had a little money, from an inheritance from my dad. I also had the last remnant of my bull terrier kennel. There were about eight dogs, all aging gracefully and with great care by me and my ex.

Our next door neighbors were our best friends, and we did alot of great things together. We also had a standing Domino game ever Friday and Saturday night.

One fatefully day, our neighbors announced that they were moving to Fort Worth, TX. Without going into too much detail, my ex talked me into going with them.

So, in summer of 2001, we pulled up stakes and moved to Texas.

We were able to find a 5 acre parcel, and purchased a large, custom-made doublewide home to put on it. We built stout oil-pipe fencing for the horses and was able to make a corral of about 1/4 acre. For our dogs we were ablt to make their own yard, with a ramp going into the house to their very own room.

Then reality struck.

My ex, always the cocky fellow, decided that since he had a federal Airframe and Powerplant license, that he should just be able to walk into any company around and suddenly become a top manager.

Obviously, Texas didn't agree and he went without work for months. He then finally found a job at Wal Mart. He found his girlfriend there, too. More on that later.

Meanwhile, I combed all of North Texas looking for a job as a secretary, receiptionist, anything I could find. I finally wound up working as a sales person for a manufactured housing (read: trailer house) company.

I soon discovered that sales is not my strong point. I can't lie to people about the product, and I can't see getting people's hopes up about buying a house when they can't possibly afford it. I lasted a year there.

I then finally found a secretarial job in Dallas. Two hour commute both ways, but I was able to make the mortgage and bills together with my ex's check.

Enter: ex's girlfriend. She was a large woman (as I am) with 3 kids by 3 different dads, and one on the way. I suspected my ex for the one in the oven, but the timing wasn't right. She did however, try to get him to sign his name on the new baby's birth certificate when it was born. He didn't...it was the one time he listened to me.

To make a long story short, I was tired of him, he was tired of me, and thought he'd found the perfect woman. So I told him to pack his things and go live with her.

Now, I was REALLY on my own. With no support from the ex on the house, all the bills were mine.

I held on for a while, by the skin of my teeth...every one ate, even when I didn't.

Thing got worse and worse. Finally, I took my dogs to the vet for a final visit. There were eight, all of them aging bull terriers that I could not place. I was there for each as the needle with slipped into their vein. For 10 years I raised and showed bullies, and now it was ALL OVER. My heart still breaks when I think of it.

The only dogs that I kept was my chihuahua/pomeranian mix, Jaws, and a chocolate chihuahua named Cisco. I could afford to feed them.

It got to the point where I couldn't afford to feed my horses, even with round bales going at about $25. A kind lady at my job at the time took them in. I gave them to her and her husband. Sidenote: I did go to visit the horses once. There were on 5 to 7 acres of lush pasture, fat, contented and happy. Their feet and teeth looked great. Her husband had even used my foxtrotter in Martin Luther King day parade and was very happy with him. My grade buckskin was ridden most often by their teenage boys, and was in great shape as well.

Now, with all the animals gone, I had more money to spend. Mostly on dumb stuff like food, mortgage, car payment, tax payments, etc.

The final blow came when I was laid off from my job in Dallas. A new manager had come it, and he decided I was below the calibur of secretary he needed. So, out I went.

Now I had no job, no prospects, and a looming, enormous bills.

You may ask where my "friends from California" now? Well, they were struggling, but both were working. Not once did they offer a place to stay, a meal or even a listening ear. They just stayed away, like I was some sort of leper.

During this time, I had a sudden influx of mice in the house. Like an Asshat, I put down some poison and little Cisco got into it and died. I'll never forgive myself for being so galactically and reprehisibly irresponsible. I still have his ashes as a reminder.

I had a couple of jobs. One in the Wal Mart Deli for about 2 weeks. I failed miserably. My hats off to anyone who works in such an environment - you aren't paid enough!

After that, I worked as a secretary at a steel company. Unfortunately, it didn't work out. My boss was crazy; if she didn't like how I did things, she would withhold work from me, making it appear that I didn't do anything all day. So for $17.00/hour I shredded paper and rearranged the filing system. One day there was a closed door meeting with all the staff but me. Guess what? I was out again.

Also, my bipolar situation didn't help matters. I finally, after many calls, found the county mental health group.

I will be forever in debt to those people there. They got me my medication, a little therapy, and a whole tanker full of support. They visited me on more than one occasion to check on me and my living conditions. They were loving (as far as their jobs would allow) and were an invaluable balm on my broken heart.

I finally reached the end of my rope. I called an estate sales person, and gave her all of my furniture, pictures, and anything else that may have been of value. I called the mortgage company and told them they could have the house after June 29, 2003, as I wouldn't be living in it any more. I didn't have a chance to move the things I was going to keep out of the house before the estate person took my belongings. The house was broken into and anything that was small enough to carry out of the house was stolen. I later saw some of my things in the neighbor's house across the street. I didn't have the strenght, either physically or mentally, to challenge her.

I pawned all the jewelry that I had that was worth anything. I also traded my horse trailers and trucks for work that was needed around the trailer after it was hit by a straight line wind.

In short, I had nothing.

There is another person I need to mention, my best friend and partner. I'll call him by his road name, Putley.

I met him at my trailer job. He worked in the factory that produced these homes. One day I spoke to him over the phone about when a house would be delivered, and we just got to be friends after that.

He watched everthing that was going on. He gave great advice and hugs when they was needed, and was always there to "boot me in the ass" when I was ready to just give up.

When I was on the verge of being homeless, and had to give up Jaws so I could go to a shelter, he said I could stay with him until I got on my feet, and could rent a room when I got a job. I'm still renting that room today.

As all this was going on for me, he wound up getting a horrible bite from a brown recluse spider on his ankle. I took care of his house while he was in hospital. When he was transferred to a retirement home for care, (as he didn't have a wife or anyone at home to care of him at home) I visited him there every day. I brought him his mail, burgers from his favorite burger joint, cigarettes, whatever he needed or wanted to make him feel better. But I was there for him. In the same way my "friends" weren't there for me.

Putley and I share a bond. Not one of marriage, (I'll NEVER do that again), but of something stronger than friendship. It's really hard to put it into words.

When my car got repossessed, (the last thing I lost), Putley found me a cute little 4 door sedan that gets great milage. I was able to purchase it for a ridiculous price from the money from my estate sale.

Also, I adopted a female chihuahua from a breeder. This poor little dog was about 2 years old when I got her, and clearly, she wasn't interested in puppies. She had no hair, was flea-ridden, and very, very thin. I bought her, took her to my vet, and got her spade, and a good flea bath. When I got her home, she didn't know what a bed was, what a tummy rub was, and it took weeks for her to trust me. Now, all she wants is hugs and kisses. Oh, yeah, and table scraps (which she doesn't get). She gets along great with Jaws, and they spend many happy days together.

With some of the money I got from the estate sale, I bought a motorcycle. It's not a horse, and one could argue that it's much more dangerous, but it's something to do. I'm not good at arts & crafts, knitting, cooking or the other girly pursuits. But I can ride, and ride well.

I guess to some it up, I now have a good job (for as long as that lasts, but that's another blog), two wonderful little dogs, a great friend, my own car and motorcycle.

I am grateful, believe me I am.

But why can't I let go of the past I have just described to you at length? This is the first time I've written or talked about it in any detail. There is a huge hole in my heart when I think about it too much.

I yearn to turn back the clock back to the time I last lived in California, and put my foot down against moving to Texas. I want my life back the way it was.

But yearning is pointless, isn't it?

I need to find a way to forget this mess. I know there is a way to get over it. I just haven't found it yet.