Long, Long Way From Home…….

Just recently someone on my Facebook page “liked” a post by someone who isn’t on my friends list, so I could see the post.  Wow.  That sentence was complicated.  Anyway, the post that was liked (follow along if you can) was by a guy I went to High School with, Billy Barnett.  Billy was an awesome guy, a year older and he married another classmate, Donna Evans, who was a year younger. They got married in ’79.   In this post, which is a video, Bill was at the Grand Canyon scattering Donna’s ashes. She had lost her fight (and knowing Donna-she put up one HELL of a fight) with cancer.   In the script that follows he explains that this was on her bucket list of things she wanted to do, when she got better.  These are the things that make me think of my own mortality.  And this had been on my mind alot lately.

My Dad is averaging a hospital visit about every month.  Years of abusing his body and In my opinion (and since this is MY blog, my opinion counts) KARMA, every medical issue you could think of has  and is happening. Prostrate Cancer, COPD, Congestive Heart Failure, Diabetes, and the list goes on and on…. Lately alot of internal hemmorraging.  It seems that as you get older your parts and pieces wear out, and in Dad’s case alot of the things he STILL does (or doesn’t do, as the case may be) compound the problems, and then there is Karma….

He is mean and nasty and for some reason thinks everyone owes him and that it is apparently a priviledge to take care of him.

Mother of course is the world biggest enabler.  After our conversation today, I don’t think I need to hold my breath waiting for them to call any time soon.  I’ll call her on her Birthday in May.

She was griping about Dad being hateful at the hospital telling the Doctor he wanted to go home.  The Dr. told him they wanted to keep him overnight for observation and he said that his wife could observe him.  Now, keep in mind (WARNING!!  TMI Moment coming here) that Dad’s hands are gnarled and because of different accidents (Like dropping the satellite dish on one of his hands and crushing a few fingers) and operations he cannot comb his own hair, shave himself or wipe his own butt.  Great.  Just what I wanted to know-thanks Mom.   I get the whole getting older thing-but you had better be nice to people while you can, and be appreciative of the people taking care of you.  Mother is in better health than Dad, but he had better pray to God that nothing happens to her, because Ronnie will slap his happy ass in a nursing home, which quite honestly is where he needs to be.  They live in a split foyer with steps to get out the front door and steps to get him off the deck.  He is eventually going to fall and take Mother with him.  Anyway when she was griping, I told her to hang on, and tell me again how long he had been bleeding before he finally fell making a HUGE mess (that Mother got to clean up) and had to be taken to the ER.  She replied, 2 Days.  I said, Well, that is YOUR fault.  He is a stubborn old ass and you are responsible for making this monster, and I don’t feel sorry for him.

Then at one point during our conversation (don’t you wonder why she even wants to talk to me?), she was telling me that she told Dad that she thought part of his stomach problems were related to the copenhagen he still chews (ecccchhhhh, and partially swallows, yuuuuuuccccccckkkkkkk).  He had told her that when she comes to pick him up tomorrow to make sure to bring him a can of copenhagen.  I’d say tough shit, buddy.  You can’t drive, you are dependant on me to go to the store for you, and I’m not doing it.  She says, “Ok, Don.” and then gripes about it.  She was also griping that he drinks a 2 liter bottle of Mountain Dew every day.  He will shake his empty glass of ice at her and say, “Georgia!  My glass is empty!”  I told her you would shake your glass at me one time and I would throw something at your head.  Fucking ASK me, asshole.  I told her the next time he started hemmorraging if he wouldn’t go to the Dr, to just tell him that you were leaving and he could clean up the damn mess himself and he could take care of himself and she told me that there was something about, “For better or for worse” and I told her that it had never been better and she had done a remarkable job of making it worse.  I know, I’m supposed to be supportive-but for the love of God (Allah, Buddah, the rock in my backyard, whoever the hell you pray to), you can’t gripe if you aren’t even trying to fix it.

Then as if she hadn’t had enough, she asked me if I was planning on coming down for Blakes graduation.  My response, “Oh HELL no!” It’s like I explained to her, the last time I was in Rolla, my family (except my sister and her son) made a point of not talking to me.  I don’t give a rats ass if I ever see or talk to them again.  She said, “Well, I think he’s planning on sending you an invitation” They are apparently having a party at Lions Club.  Did I mention that Georgia is oblivious?  And yes, I’ll send the kid a card and some cash.  It’s not his fault his father is dumb as a creek minnow.

As as the icing on the cake (you know, one of those things I can’t have becausee of all the fucking allergies I have developed) I have to have something called a “supression test”  Isn’t THAT ironic?  Do I sound like I supress things?

” It was a Monday
A day like any other day
I left a small town
For the Apple in decay

It was my destiny
It’s what we needed to do
They were telling me
I’m telling you…”





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You Gotta Get up and Try (try, try…)

So, there is a commercial for Extra Chewing gum.  Yes, I said chewing gum.  In this commercial a father hands his daughter a stick of gum and then makes an oragami bird out of the wrapper and gives it to her. This goes on through her life, on the way to a ball game, teenage angst while she’s crying and finally as she is moving out, her Dad is helping her load the car and he drops a box and it spills hundreds of little oragami birds all over the driveway.  Awww, touching and so sweet.  And it pisses me off every time.

I would have done anything to have that special bond with my Dad. Even after I had moved back to Rolla after my 1st marriage had tanked, I would go over to one of his apartments that he was remodeling and try to help him.  Most of the time it ended with him getting frustrated and throwing something bellowing out his usual litney of profanities, “God-damn, Mother-fucking, cock-sucking Son of a BITCH”.  I think that is why I make sure I mix it up.  I don’t want anyone to be able to predict what I am going to say.  Looking back, I know part of his frustration was the fact that he wanted to be at home sitting in his lounge chair drinking beer and trying to escape from the demons that pursued him his whole life.

I can count on one hand the number of times that my Dad has told me that he loved me.  For Mom, probably both hands. If my kids and I are around my parents, we are always hugging and kissing each other and telling each other that we love them, Mom (Bless her heart) always tries to hug me-but it just comes across as ackward.

In a way I get it.  Neither of them were raised with any amount of hugging and people telling you they loved you.  I wasn’t either, but I knew that I wanted MORE for my kids.  I wanted them to know how special each of them are and that they were both smart, funny and could do ANYTHING they set their mind out to do.  I was raised in a house where my Dad would tell me that he couldn’t wait until I turned 18 so I “could get the hell out of his house”  so I did.

When my oldest grandbaby was born, I bought a book called, “Grandmother Remembers” that you basically just go through and fill out with memories of your childhood.  I started filling it out and it brought back alot of shit that I had blocked on purpose.  No, thank you.  Lived through it once.

There were times that were good and fun, and usually ended with Dad getting drunk and getting mean, and more likely than not, beating the shit out of three little kids who had no idea what the fuck they were getting beat for.  He used his belt and he could unbuckle it and pull it out in one fluid motion.  He also had a razor strop.  When we lived in “the old house” (our house burned to the ground when I was in 4th grade) we would see his truck coming up the lane and we would run out the back door into the woods.  You never wanted to be there when he first got home.  You didn’t have to “do” anything.  You just had to be there.

The resentment that bubbled up for my Mother is because she would stand there and wring her hands and say, “Don!!  Don stop!!”  She let a mean, nasty-tempered ASSHOLE beat her kids.  What THE actual Fuck, Georgia?  When I confronted her years later she told me that “those were different times. they didn’t have all of the programs to help you like they do now.”  My response?  I called Bullshit.  She stayed with my Dad for the same reason my sister stays with the abusive asshole she is married to-because it’s easier.  I didn’t say it was fucking EASY and I didn’t say it was FUN.  I worked my ass off, everyday and did without a lot so my kids could grow up SECURE in the knowledge that I loved them and I would protect them from anything evil.

Michael and I had been married several months when we had a disagreement about something and he said something that I didn’t agree with so I popped off some smart ass remark and then I threw my hands up in front of my face.  He looked at me in total shock and said, “Holy shit!  Did you think I was going to hit you?”  Absolutely.  Michael is my fourth husband and the first one who doesn’t have an abusive bone in his body.  I got lucky.  Up until THAT point I had NO idea that it could be any different.  It can be.

When we were working on a project, if Michael had a question about plumbing or electrical, he would say, “Hey call your Dad and ask him……”  I would look at the clock and if it was past 6:00-6:30, I’d just smile and tell him that I would call tomorrow.  Once Dad went home and started drinking, he was mean and I refuse to put myself through that.

When Dad was diagnosed with prostrate cancer, Mother told me that they were going to do the surgery the following week.  I asked her if she had told Dad’s Doctor that Dad was an alcoholic.  She told me that she couldn’t do that or Dad would kill her.  I told her that if she didn’t the surgery could kill Dad.  So she did and the Doctor cancelled the surgery until Dad had quit drinking for 3 months.  He never drank again.

In the years immediately following the surgery, he was nice, and patient and funny.  I would catch myself thinking that I wish that THIS guy had raised me.  Then one day he was sitting out by my pool and a friend and I were floating around and he told her that when his kids were little, he only had to look at them and they would behave.  He never even had to raise a finger.  I was in total disbelief that he wouldn’t even acknowledge being a horrible father.  Doesn he owe all of us an apology.  Of course.  Am I expecting one.  No.

I have always maintained that there is a fine line between respect and fear.  And I do not live in fear anymore and I have no respect for someone who can’t own up to their own actions.  Denial is not a river in Egypt……

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Don’t Let Me Get Me

I know I am my own best friend, but sometimes I am also my worst enemy.

I think a change, is headed my way.  It’s been a fucking hard, hard, fall.  So many things in my little tiny mind.

Today, I went to a different Dr. about my back (hip/leg/foot).  The pain management Dr. I had been going to just wanted to do ablasions (fucking super painful-with NO results) Now granted, he gave me Valium-which is always a win, but the pain during the procedures was so intense (stick and a poke…..now a little pressure.  LITTLE Pressure?  Are you fucking kidding me?) The first time it worked like a charm for a year and the three, yes, THREE after that had no results. And trust me when I tell you that Valium isn’t THAT good… I have just been muddling through, but cronic, persistant pain gets old realy quick-THEN I fell on the deck.  The highlight of my visit with Dr. Laura Lisa (yes, Laura Lisa) Billings was as she was looking at my x-rays and showing me how the vertebra are compacting “prematurely” which could be the cause of the numbness in my leg and foot.  Then she asks, “How old are you?”  I told her 57 and she she laughs and said, “WELL, you don’t look your age, so maybe it really isn’t “prematurely…..”

We talked about a treatment plan.  I start Physical Therapy week after next, that’s the soonest I could get in, and she wanted to prescribe a medication to help with the pain.  While she was going over my medical records she asked, “I see you take Xanax, do you have anxiety?  Me, “At times”  LL, “Before I prescribe the medication I want you to try, I have to ask you a question.”    Her question was, “Have you ever had suicidial tendancies?”  My answer, “Ummm, you might want to go with another medication.”  Her response, “Within the past year?” me: “Ummm, Within the past MONTH.  Life has just been kinda sucky lately.”  At this time she stopped, rolled her stool back from the keyboard and we talked for just a few minutes about all kinds of things.  She is about my age and very empathatic to the whole “This is it?” scenario.  I thought I would be FAMOUS! I would DO some brilliant SOMETHING and everyone would, oh shit-I don’t know what I expected-but it wasn’t this.  I did not tell her that of course.  She told me that she thought it would be a good idea/and wanted to know if I was open to therapy.  I told her I would be open to that.   At one point while I was talking about everyday bs (life, job, blah, blah blah) and that I was just TIRED of even thinking about everything, she asked me if I had a plan and I told her, “of course”  At that point she asked if I needed her to contact someone today, right now.  I smiled and told her that I was doing much better in the past couple of weeks and I promise to go to therapy.  She was more concerned that I have a support system, and while I have Michael, he just doesn’t get it.  My cousin Leisa and my Aunt Sandi totally get it, and I know they are there if I need them.  If I thought for an instant that I would be on the beach in a terry cloth robe staring at the ocean and comtemplating life (thats how it is in the movies…..) I would have gone in an instant.  I am not so out of touch with reality that know I would have ended up in a sterile psych ward across town and aint nobody got time for that!  She told me that her office would send a referral and the referring office would be in touch.  Explaining all of this to Michael was a little different. He said, “So you have two THERAPISTS?  Physical Therapists?”  I said, “Well, one of them is a
Physical Therapist.”  And he said, “What the other one? Mental-HAHA.”  I said, “Actually, yes. That’s what you get for being a smartass, now can we wait until we get in the car to talk about this?”   He just shook his head and gave a nervous laugh.   Michael lives in an alternate reality where if something is unpleasant you ignore it and it will go away.  He has never WANTED for anything.  Never dealt with abuse and doesn’t have the worry of really anything.  For the past 23 years, I have been the one to figure out where I was going to pull a rabbit out of my hat to pay bills, buy groceries, etc.  That’s at least a non issue now.  We aren’t rolling in it, but I have a nice handle on it-now if I can just keep it that way.

I wish, I had the resources to tell work that I will be back in a week and go to Standing Rock.  Michael said he would go with me-but he won’t go to the protest, he’ll hang at the motel.  He knows me well enough that I am not camping.  But instead I’ll send donations and do what I can.  Can you tell the Xanax is kickin in?  La La La.

Don’t Let Me Get Me
Never win first place, I don’t support the team
I can’t take direction, and my socks are never clean
Teachers dated me, my parents hated me
I was always in a fight cause I can’t do nothin’ right
Every day I fight a war against the mirror
I can’t take the person starin’ back at me
I’m a hazard to myself
Don’t let me get me
I’m my own worst enemy
It’s bad when you annoy yourself
So irritating
Don’t wanna be my friend no more
I wanna be somebody else
I wanna be somebody else, yeah
LA told me, “You’ll be a pop star,
All you have to change is everything you are.”
Tired of being compared to damn Britney Spears
She’s so pretty, that just ain’t me
Doctor, doctor, won’t you please prescribe me somethin’
A day in the life of someone else?
Cause I’m
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Holy Shitballs…..

So I have had a super weird upside down last two weeks and am in the 2nd cycle of a 10 day yoga immersion where I am trying to get in touch with “myself”  and sometimes I’m not a huge fan….

Going into this session, I am recovering from not only a fall on the deck-but a major bout of the “depression’ part of what used to be referred to as “manic depression”.  It is now called being bi-polar, which imho doesn’t describe it nearly as well.  I THRIVE on the manic part of this (lets call it an) infliction. But the depression part is a nasty bitch and you never know when she will hit or how long she will stay.  This go ’round has been particularly brutal.   I don’t think that even after 24 years that Michael understands it, but bless his heart has been there to pick me up when I fall and stays steady even though I know he wants to bolt and run.  And I have my extended family of my cousin Leisa (who knows me sometimes too well…) and her Mom.  Both of them totally get the whole bipolar thing-they deal with it all the time.  Pretty sure its a gift handed down through the generations-you know like skin tags and keratosis pilaris ……..



But let me start this out with a positive.

Today was just as much fun as I had anticipated……..

I was at a family get together that was very awkward.

Dad sat in the truck the entire time because he could not get out of the truck and he shakes so bad now that neither of his hands are still–it is so sad that it is creepy-because of course we all have to pretend that his hands aren’t shaking.  He looks awful-but that is relative because everyone looked awful.

When we first got there we walked up to the truck and said Hi to Dad and asked him if he wanted to get out for a while and he told me “No.  Why would I want to go sit on a hard picnic bench?  This is for the grandkids so go see the grandkids.’  I said Ok…(what the fuck ever.)….  I walked into the pavilion where Mother (who had her hair in a pony tail-no bun!!-What the WHAT?)  started introducing me to everyone.  “No, do you remember Kyle? (WTF was Kyle doing there?)  This is his wife Monique (who promptly turned her back on me and walked away after saying something like, yeah-she cut my hair once-which btw, I have never cut her hair-but I think I would LIKE to…..😉)  And now, this is Jayden , Ronnie and Dee’s little girl and this is Landon and …. I said, “For the love of God Mother-I know all of these people-I’m RELATED to them….”

Darren and Dallas were as usual-super nice.  I met Amanda (Dallas’ baby momma) and Vera and she is ADORABLE!  Darren had Dani Lee’s boys.  All of the kids spoke to me-but my older brother made a point of being rude to me.  I was trying to be nice, ( I know, I know-for most people it comes naturally and I have to try…..)  and I asked him about a Taco Place (Taco Johns) we used to eat at all the time when we lived in Iowa and he just looked at the table and told me that he didn’t remember and it must have been someone else….fucker. Pam was talking to Darren and she said-Of course he remembers-we ate there almost every night.     I had to block Kyle from FB years ago because he is a dick, so he just smirked at me and said, “Hello”

Darren had Az and Ari at the park so I told Michael I was going to walk over there did he want to come with me?  He said he would sit there and I told him I would be right back.  I walked back with Darren and Dallas and Amanda and  the kids back to the pavillion, where I see Michael standing out talking to Dad in the truck.  He said that Donny and Pam and Ronnie and Kyle and Monique all formed a little huddle and starting talking so he thought he would just talk to dad since he was in the truck by himself anyway.

Dad kept him entertained of stories of growing up on a cattle ranch in AZ complete with cowboys and cougars (pretty sure it was about 85% fabricated-but super entertaining!)

Anyway after about another 20 minutes of Mother trying to tell me who everyone is (Now-you remember Dallas-this is one of Darren boys) “Mother-it’s me-remember me-I am R-E-L-A-T-E-D”  Oh-Have you ever met Anthony?  This is Dee’s…”Mother!  Anthony used to play in the floor of my Salon when he was THREE-I probably knew him before you did!”  I told her that it was time we had her tested-because she had finally gone over the edge.  After another oh I don’t know 5 minutes of sitting there while everyone sat with their back to me-I told Mom-well, I think we are going to head on home and said she said, “Ok-thanks for stopping by”…..I walked out to tell Darren and Dallas and the kids goodbye and then went to the truck to get Michael and tell Dad goodbye and everyone at the “Douchebag table” waved and said, “Bye!”  That translates to “Ok-go away-so we can talk about you…..”

At one point Ronnie was telling a story about Paul Smith (used to be the Mayor of Newburg or Doolittle or something and he and his first wife lived across “E” Hwy from us when we were kids) and Ronnie said, “Yeah-he puts up a great front , like he a super nice guy and he a creepy old perv-and Karma is getting ready to catch up to him-You know there is such a thing as Karma…..”     Isn’t it ironic-don’t ‘cha think????

That was about the time I decided it was time to go…..NEVER AGAIN.

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You’ve Got to Lose to Know how to Win……

I have been going through some of the hardest periods of depression I have had in years.  I hate it.  It sucks the life out of me and then I just want to go to sleep and never wake up. I think about how I am actually worth more dead than alive.  Then I think fat fucking lot of good that would do me.  I’d be dead.  And dead is dead.  I don’t want to die-I just want this to stop.  I want my head to stop going over and over the same old shit and I want to stop being tired.

Its a culmination of everything sucking at once.

My job.  I love, love, love what I do and I do it really well.  My General Manager sucks and my District Manager sucks even more.  I had purchased a magazine from the Harvard Business Review called “How to work with Toxic Colleagues”  I had made copies of it for everyone at work, because I thought it would be helpful.  Mark (DM) came in for a visit and picked it up and said, “Hmmmm, do you identify yourself in this article, Tracey?”  I laughed and said, “Umm, No.  I am not TOXIC, Mark, but thanks.”  He then started reading paragraphs and said, “Um, yeah-this is totally you.”

Then he told me that  he had talked to my “peers” and he was told that “something had to be done about Tracey”. And that I was, “everything that was wrong with the store”. And that while the employee survey was better than last years, it was still the lowest in the district and that was my fault, because no one likes me and that I have to make an effort to be super nice to everyone. The turnover at our store is also the highest in the district and that is my fault, too. AND that there are vendors who LOVE to work with me and vendors who REFUSE to work with me. That I could sell anything and I was one of the best salespeople he has ever met in his life, but unfortunately, I am the PM and not a Prestige Consultant. When he asked what I just heard him say, I was quite honestly, more than a little taken aback because I have worked really hard to build this business and thought up until then that I was doing a great job. I replied that it sounded like he was telling me that I needed to find a new job and he told me that if things didn’t change in the store that was exactly what he was telling me.

I could have pointed out that I have taken this store to an “A” volume Prestige Department (2 years ago) and yet the store was still an “B” Volume and that my department is up 39% over last year or that the high turnover is because the GM insists on hiring college students who think that they are going to get to stand around all day and play in the makeup and when they find out that they are cashiers-they quit showing up.  Then he told me that He and I were just alike.  I, of course just sat there  and bit my tongue.  I didn’t think it would help my cause to point out that I wasn’t a DICK.  So, I have been applying for other jobs-maybe I need a change.  That is a part of my funk-I love what I do, and I don’t want to stop doing it.

Home.  I am so tired of working,  I get up every day and go to work.  Michael gets up every day and goes to the gym.  On my days off, I always have something to do or somewhere I have to be.  I was off today and I had to go and teach for two hours this morning.  Starting on Tuesday, I an going to have to start getting up at 5:00 again for 10 days for the yoga immersion.  I enjoy yoga and I fucking hate getting up at 5:00 am.  I just tell myself it just 10 days.

I have been working non-stop for the past 13 years since he had his stroke.  He says that he worked for 25 years and blah, blah blah.  That’s great.  We had only been married 10 years when he stopped working.  So, now do I feel petty?  NO.  Am I jealous?  Fuck yes.  I know I should count my fucking blessings, but when my mind goes here, I can’t SEE any.

Anyone who actually knows me just might want to skip the next paragraph.  It contains sex or me bitching about the lack thereof….

I hate where out relationship is right now.  I know after 24 years we are at a comfortable place.  You know-like an old pair of shoes.  I miss the romance.  I miss him telling me what I mean to him.  I hate it that he spends all of his time working on his body and I look like a bag of potatoes.  I know its great that he has found something to do with his time.  Working out and painting.  I pisses me off when he tells people he is “retired”.  I hate feeling like someones retirement plan.  And I miss sex.  I have found that we go a little longer and a little longer in between.  It makes me feel like I’m not attractive to him anymore.  He hasn’t lost the desire for HIM to look good.  Once I mention that it has been a long time, I’m not going to mention it again-I don’t need to beg-that’s pathetic.

I don’t feel appreciated.  And I hate the feeling of being responsible for fucking everything.  We had a showing on our house today and I had to spend a solid hour flying around, cleaning bathrooms, and dusting and thinking-I shouldn’t have to do any of this shit!  You are here all fucking day!  I want to be able to sit here and read or watch tv and knit.. But no.  This Wednesday (day off) yoga at 6:00.  Drop the cats off at the Vet to be groomed. Then  I have Helen coming up from Rolla so I can do her hair then I have to do Michael’s hair (if I don’t do it Wednesday-I will have to do it next Sunday after I teach for two hours again.  And then of course, I have to go to the grocery store.  I’m tired.  And now I’m tired of talking about all of this bullshit, and I think I’ll just go to bed.




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Late Summer 2016

Not quite sure what happens when the sun shifts going into fall/winter mode, usually fall is such an optimistic time for me. Every serious relationship I have had in my life started in the fall. Something about the smell of the air.  Well, I hope the wind changes-fast.  Right now, I am in the middle (or I hope it’s the middle anyway-one never knows how long this shit is going to last) of one of my infamous “blue funks”.  I hate feeling like this.  Like nothing matters.  And wondering why.  What is the point of anything.  That has a period because it is actually a statement-not a question.

Talking to my favorite Aunt the other day and she was bummed because one of her last remaining aunts is coming to the end of her life.  Now this lady is elderly and has LIVED a pretty amazing life.  But she has also seen the death of brothers and sisters and is the last one left.  And this is a lady who family means everything to.  Her family was tight.  My family is not even close to tight.  I am close to my kiddos and to my first cousin (who is actually more like my sister) and to my Aunt.  But I sit here and think that if I wasn’t here, would anyone even miss me for longer than a day?  Have I made a difference to anyone?

The weirdest fucking things can set me off.  I had mentioned to Michael the other day that I needed to plant some flowers in the pots out front.  The next day he asked when I wanted to go get the flowers.  I didn’t answer.  He asked again and I went off (fucking batshit crazy lady) about how tired I am of having to BE somewhere every fucking day.  I can’t ever just stay home and do NOTHING.  I get it.  I get the fact that he is home every day and that on my days off he wants to go and do something.  I get the fact that since he really doesn’t have to be anywhere or do anything , once he gets something on his mind he is obsessed with it.  (That shirt he saw on Hollister, or a yoga workshop or the fucking flowers for the pots out front).  I’m tired.  I’m tired of working everyday of my life since I was a kid.  I’m tired of making sure that all the bills are paid, that Michael needs his haircut , that I need to make cookies or clean the bathrooms.  I know I should be happy that I am not trying to figure out where I am going to get the money to pay bills with.  Am I ever happy?  Am I ever satisfied?  I feel like I am just pissy all the time.  When I was cleaning the other day, I ran across the letter Michael had put on the table when he left me 14 years ago.  “Now you can be happy.  Now you can be by yourself and watch whatever you want on tv”  So really nothing has changed I guess.  I don’t want to be by myself all the time-but sometimes it would be nice.  Sometimes I feel like I just need to sit by the water (I love water) and do nothing but listen to it.

OK I had to leave so the realtor can show the house (it’s for sale) and I think that is adding to the stress.  Trying to keep everything looking perfect and sterile clean (not in my nature) and working all the time along with trying to deal with the Millenials that I have to work with that have absolutely -0- work ethic and it is all I can do not to punch them in the throat (anger issues….)

But I think I feel better.  I just took my car to the car wash where they detail it until it looks brand new.  It cost me $50 which I paid without blinking an eye.  I think back to the year I started Cosmetology school (the same day that Clayton started kindergarten) and I was driving a piece of shit car that broke down on me. The “dustmobile” it was a Dodge Aspen.  I walked down our lane with the kids-a mere two and a half miles so they could catch the bus.  Then I walked up Newburg hill to catch a ride with another girl from school-probably another 2 miles.  We lived in a house that had a walnut tree growing behind the stove(I have pictures) -which tells you there was one hell of a hole in the floor.  But that is what you get for $100 a month.  And I was so happy to have a roof over my head.  No matter what we have never been homeless.  It was close a couple of times, and there were times that calling the building we were living in a house was a stretch-but we did it.

Signed up for a 10 day yoga workshop at the end of the month-every morning at 6:00.  I hate getting up early, but I can totally do it for 10 days and here’s to making myself a calmer, happier person.



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This post was started early in the spring and I’m sure I fully intended to come back to it sooner than several months down the way.  In any case here it is.  My thoughts.  At the time.   I have spent 2 very long full days in Rolla in the past two weeks.  My Dad is having more health issues and the more I learn the angrier I get.  I have had a lot of time to bite my tongue and sometimes I don’t even bother to do that.  But this morning as I was in the savasana part of my yoga practice, I had time to reflect.  Reflect on how much I need yoga as it really does keep me from killing stupid shits everywhere.  Today as I was concentrating on my breathing (BIIIIIG long deep breath in and then hold it and then really expel the breath, until you draw your stomach in as far as you can-trying to touch your spine with your stomach), I make a promise to myself, to really appreciate the life I have lived. And am living to this day.  But I know that if I died today-I have lived a very full, basically happy life and I hope I have made a positive impact on most of the people I have touched.

As I watch my Dad just lay there in a hospital bed and get pissed off at everyone around him because they want him to, Oh, I don’t know-breathe for himself and stop counting on a machine to do it for him.  I think about the lack of his life’s quality for the past 10-15 years.  He and my mother can make all of the excuses they want, but you have to WANT to make your life better and Fucking LIVE your life!  Not sit in a chair and let my mother wait on you hand and foot.  If nothing else-go out and sit in the sunshine and enjoy the sun on your face.

When I first moved back to Rolla, one of my greatest pleasures was driving down to the Little Piney River and sitting on the riverbank and listening to the water and all of the quiet sounds around me.  When it was the phase in my life when I lived in Newburg-I would walk down there and just enjoy the crunch of the gravel under my feet on the way.  God knows I was too poor to do anything else-I may as well enjoy what was available.

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