Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 2014 was the worst yet. First one without Dad. First one without R. So much drama from Mom that I barely had a chance to even think about Dad & R...until I saw R's room, which was a trash depository. I thought that's where he was found, but it turns out he was in the bed in Mom's room that she's never used. It's been a month and a half and we still don't have a death certificate. I find that odd. Apparently autopsies can take up to 8 months too. I can't believe my beloved brother has been dead for a month and a half and my beloved father has been gone four months. They're gone and they're never coming back. According to the Grateful Dead, there's nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile...but I can't. I try hard to act like I'm all good, but inside I'm rotting away. Especially after the debacle of this past weekend. The remainder of my family went to Mom's specifically to help her clean the squalor in her house so she can get rid of it and move into a condo or retirement community. She was a giant pain in the ass about what we could throw away, what to keep, what to donate, and she wanted to have an estate sale to try and make money off of stuff from the 1970s. There was still a set of 1973 encyclopedias we found in the garage. Come on! She had bills or receipts from 1983. I told her she needed to get a shredder for all that stuff and she said, "I'll just do it at Mxxxx's house." I told her she couldn't just take boxes full of papers and ruin someone's shredder because she didn't feel like buying one. She just doesn't get it. I don't get how she doesn't get it, but I worry all the time about becoming like her...Ugh. I thought I was in a writing mood, but all this stuff just makes me sad and I don't need the tears to start. Hasta luego.

For Randee

The tears roll down my face
piercing like shards of glass
I will never hear your infectious laughter
nor see that brilliant smile again.

I cannot face this burning loss
not so soon
not so soon
Things were looking up for you
Finally.

I prayed over and over
for years and years
that you would be healed,
that God would slay your demons
and give you the peace on this earth
that you so deserved.

Your heart and soul loomed large
willing to help anyone when you could
which towards the end grew less and less
as your demons grew by the legions.

They gnawed and gnashed at your body
ripping your heart to shreds
each tear melting your skin
until you were no more.

People say you're in a better place now
no more suffering, no more gnawing.
All I know is that my prayers didn't work
the way I wanted them to.

God took you,
seemingly without a chance
for happiness on earth.
But now you're with Dad
and all your friends who passed before you,
cracking jokes and laughing your infectious laugh
once again.

Goodbye my beloved brother,
Goodbye.
I will never stop loving you
never stop crying for you
never stop wondering what you could've become.
Never stop wishing I had the chance
to say goodbye to your sweet face
or hear you laugh one more time.

I never knew

I never knew how badly heartbreak could feel. Oh, I've had my set of heartbreaks and I never thought the first one could be topped....But this one is obviously different from an 18-year-old getting dumped by a guy she thought she loved. THIS, this, is true heartbreak. And I know I'll have to go through it several more times and that terrifies me. Yeah, people tell me I'm stronger than I think, but I don't necessarily believe them - even if included in that group is a counseling pastor and a therapist and my husband and my best friend for years and years.

I shed so many tears today, I must be drinking a gallon of water to make up for it. This weekend is Labor Day weekend, and laborious it will be. This is my Dad's memorial/funeral/celebration of his life. Whatever you call it, the truth is still shining brightly as a spotlight on my life. My dad is dead. I'm dreading this weekend as though I were going...to my dad's funeral. It will be nice to see my cousins and uncles, though I would be remiss to say the only person I'd really like to see there is my uncle's ex, K. It would be good for my soul and spirit to hang out with her for a while and talk. She'd put things in perspective and I'd just be so happy to see her, it might reduce my anxiety.

I absolutely abhor the idea that I didn't get to say goodbye properly. I'm always going to wonder if he knew I wasn't there and what he thought about that. I'm always going to wonder how horrifying it was to see him in his last days and hours. I'll never know, and that's for the best, but I'll still always wonder.

He's never coming back

it's close to 1:30 in the morning, August 10. The bizarre barrage of rain, thunder and lightning has finally stopped. I was asleep, curled up next to Mr. X, then I awoke and my brain became a power train of thoughts. Mostly about him.

He is gone now. Gone for real. Gone for good. Went away at July 19th, which was a Saturday, I believe. Mr. X and I were laying on our couches, watching some TV show, I don't recall which, but I heard Mr. X's phone go off a couple of times. then the last time that night. he came over and laid on top of me and whispered.

Dad's gone.

I just lay there, no tears, not much of a reaction. besides, it can't be true, can't be real. he can't have gone. I never said goodbye.

I probably talked to him one more time after our extremely short Father's Day conversation. And that conversation, the last one, wasn't much longer. He sounded terrible. his voice was crackling like he was parched from being in the desert for a week. He sounded weak, not the strong, stoic Dad I was used to talking to.

But when I reacted to Mr. X's words, I surprised myself. After 3 1/2 years of waiting, mourning, crying, sobbing, thinking the worst, it finally happened and I basically didn't react at all. I was in complete denial.

After 3 weeks of living in a drug-induced surreal world, people are starting to worry about me. I worry about me. I just want to feel numb. I don't want to feel my  grief or sorrow or anger or confusion. I have found myself randomly crying now, easily agitated, and paralyzed with feelings I don't even know how to describe.

Then there's the life insurance policy that mom essentially stole from us kids. We agreed to let it go after a lot of talk between the 5 of us, then the 4 of us, during which time mom called us money hungry and told me to get my act together and get a real job. But I won't lie and say I'm not still pissed and still think it's bullshit.
She forced Dad's hand during the divorce proceedings to sign it over to her. her excuse is so her kids won't have to take care of her financially. Well, if that's her excuse, then so be it. we won't take care of her financially. She just better remember this...R needed the money the most so he can get out of his living situation, B1 needs it desperately to live, pay off his student loans and have some cash, I need it for bills, student loans and to live on.

That's another reason I'm so depressed. I got another call for an interview for a show in LA. Where oh where were you two years ago. I feel with this pittance of an assistant job that's paying me $15/hour that I am getting farther and farther away from my production career. well, I'm getting a headache and i need to be up soon for Church. I better get going .
peace out,,,

Shakedown Street

This morning when i finally woke up, I was feeling it -- feeling the loss, the tears fell heavily, my body rocked with sobs, my face bloated and splotchy. I tried calling B1 and R and neither of them answered. I tried calling Dad's phone so I could hear his voice again, but they've already disconnected the line. Thankfully I have a few saved messages from him on my phone and he also narrated our trip. Speaking of trips, I have all those Route 66 hi-8 videos that I want to transfer to dvd. That will cost a pretty penny, but it will be worth it. ...This is a short entry because its' my fatherinlaw's birthday and I gotta go pick up my nieces....I love you daddy and miss you heaps.

Why don't you write?

So my friend asked me today why I wasn't writing lately. And I decided to try. It's Friday, July 25 at 11:42 pm. I had therapy in the am; had to tell her about Dad's death that I still haven't radically or un-radically accepted. It's been almost a week, well, if we say Sat - Fri it has been a week...i haven't talked to B1. or R. still. I have talked to B2 and J is going to be away for 2 weeks - very bad timing. so he's actually coming down next Fri thru Tues. We were supposed to go to Birmingham, AL for a show and Alpharetta the next night, Aug 3. We're selling our birmingham tickets hopefully for face and B2 is coming to his first phish show w me! R. took him to his first one, which if, my memory is correct, means B1 took me to my first Dead show, I took R to his first Phish show and R took B2 to his first phish show. i'm excited! that's a good feeling to have right now, considering I don't feel much of anything these days.

I occasionally feel the stream of wet lines drawing on my face. They make zig zag or wave patterns. Sometimes they're just straight downward. I haven't had a raging crying fit yet, and I don't know why. For the past three and a half years, I have been paralyzed on and off, battled wicked insomnia, cried til only sand was left in my eyes, wondering when the other show will drop, wondering if *this* is going to be the last visit, the last time I see my Dad. I've been nauseous a heap of time, awakened in the middle of the night from knee pain, endured headaches that lay me flat out, terrified that any call from my uncle or brother could be *the* call...or the *other* call, where R is back in the hospital, having more seizures or perhaps he finally did himself in...Perhaps I was ready too. Perhaps I am ready. Ready for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to be out of pain and misery.

But ultimately, I don't think I'm processing my father's death. I can't just call him up or text him...yeah, this entry is a lot like earlier posts and I'm assuming that future posts will be similar in context. Can't go for one last visit. I didn't even say goodbye.

It's true

As of 9:09 pm yesterday, Saturday July 19th, my father is gone. He's gone and he's never coming back. He's gone.

I'm not sure what I am feeling. Oddly, at ~9:15, I had texted my dad's wife asking what the best way to say good bye would be. He was already gone by then. Apparently he went into a coma at some .
point - both mom and his wife said "deep sleep". I've barely spoken with any of my brothers about this...oh except for being the one who broke the news to R and mom last. Not sure who called B, but my older bro got the call from Dad's wife and he called C to then tell me (idk what happened to my spelling and editing, but this is being written late and I've got no-one to edit this for me). After C got B1's info on what happened, he came over to me and laid down on me and told me he loved me and then whispered- "he's gone. Dad has passed." I certainly didn't react the way I expected myself to. I barely shed tears, posted missing-dog-or....See I'm not even making sense writing right now. I have no idea what this ^^ is all about...anyway, I wasn't a bobbleheaded crying mess either...As o f right now, [another deleted sentence making no sense].   Wow, see this is already to on...not making any sense. My brain is gobbledy-gook from all the sedatives et al I am currently on. yet I'm awake and I looks like I'm going to eat an entire box of Fiber One Lemon Snax. mmm. ... I am in complete denial that I can't call my dad up and talk trash against whoever was playing the Packers or Badgers or Ducks or Bucks. I can never call him up to find out what meds or special gargling treatment I can use to soothe my achy  joints. He fought hard for over 3 1/2 years against this ferocious cancer...I'll never again hear the joy in his voice when he talked about his island home and how beautiful all the flowers and herons and the tides rolling in and out (unlike my childhood, during which I rarely complimented the city etc). I'll never see a new smile from him. He'll never beat me at UNO and Yahtzee again. We'll never laugh with him as he tries and invariably fails to exactly quote a movie (I do that all the time though too - I unintentionally paraphrase quotes), or mispronounces words for our amusement.

yeah, yeah -- I knew it was coming. For over three years, I knew it could happen any day, but i still had hope that God would heal him. I knew every time we/I  went to see him could possibly be the last time I'd see him. But it still doesn't take away any of the shock when it actually happens. I'm a bit sad that one of our Phish shows falls directly on his birthday. That's happened before - when I saw the Phish at The Gorge (George, Washington). I remember baking in the sun, hoping that other people would be quick with their calls at PayPhones! Remember those? haaha. But I called and wished him a happy birthday.

This post is such a rambling mess. I will finish  right after these statements :
I'm gonna try and read this tomorrow and ask, wtf am  I thiking.
If people actually read this, what's the reaction gonna be. I don't kmow who I was trying to kill (sorry, CLUE flashback.

Stopped Making sense at the beginning. bye 

The end is near

The end is near. Death is nigh. My dad will be gone forever in a matter of days, most likely. I'm having a difficult time even writing about it, but figured I'd get out some of my emotion this way. Maybe so, maybe not. I'm trying to be strong, but I'm weak. I'm trying not to cry, but my eyes are like a fast-moving river. I'm trying to take my mind off of it, but I'm writing about it. He's laying there in his bed, barely able to move. He's pale and gaunt. This I know even though I haven't seen him since Memorial Day weekend. I couldn't/can't go and see him like this...though my imagination is a tornado with images and thoughts I can't seem to control...just got back from a short trip to Cincinnati to celebrate my mom's 70th and my youngest brother's 30th. Just landed back home and my mom calls me with the news that he's gotten a lot worse. His wife texted me that he hasn't spoken since last Monday, as I had asked if I could talk to him to say goodbye. So I don't even get the chance to say a final goodbye. I did write him a nice letter for Father's Day, which he read and enjoyed. I told him I loved him and forgave him for what he's done and that I hope he forgives me for all of my mistakes. I'm sure he does. I know he loves me deeply....but that doesn't cut through my already shredded heart... I am Avon's exploding heart. I am Avon's river eyes...I'm trying, but nothing can fill the hole in my heart that I carved out three and a half years ago when he was first diagnosed...This is not working either....

progress or not?

Just got back from a short Memorial Day visit to see Dad. We arrived late Thursday night and I was pretty out of it (tired), so I didn't notice that Dad seemed confused and a bit out of it as well. The next morning, he was not making much sense either. Then he got a radiation treatment and a steroid shot and he became much more coherent. Through the TK grapevine, I heard that he's had several seizures lately and has stopped both working and driving. His brain is swollen and they don't really know why. Also, his multiple doctors said that with any other patient, they'd put him in hospice. I'm not sure if they aren't putting him in there b/c he's an oncologist or because he's a stubborn dude and wouldn't go anyway. What I do know is that hospice is where they send people to die. When there's nothing else to do to treat the patient. His appetite has nearly disappeared and his body is withering away. His grouchiness is growing-- but wouldn't yours if you knew you were at the end of your life. I simply cannot imagine what goes through his head. He sleeps 18-20 hours per day. I want so badly for him to have fun during his last days....I'm trying to deal with all this through watching Grateful Dead DVDs and probably taking more pain pills than I should. My husband got upset with me last night and I felt so very small, like an ugly insect crawling through a crack in the wall. I just smoked and it kicked in everything else big time, so apparently I was talking nonsense, or starting sentences and not remembering what I'm talking about midway through. I know I'm doing it too, which is kinda scary. It's like it makes sense in my head, but doesn't come out the right way. He told me he's worried about me, and had a very serious, sad look on his face. He worries about me, I worry mostly about everyone else but myself. Sometimes I do worry about my Rxs. The pain pills definitely help with my mood in addition to the pain itself.,,I've felt like a horrible wife lately. He does so much for me, especially in the realm of my emotions. Me? I don't know if I'm there enough for him. He's got emotions too, just like every man, whether they admit it or not. Not just that either. I don't get things done. He might ask for me to do a very simple task, but it seems like he has to ask multiple times before I do anything. I'm so bloody lazy. I don't even keep up with this blog as much as I should. Should should should. I'm always...often using the Shoulds. Here I go into my therapy terminology. I need not call myself lazy, just my lack of activity...back to being a bad wife. I'm home most of the time and I don't go out and do the grocery shopping and fix him dinner every night. There are external things that make that difficult, however - as a vegetarian, it truly grosses me out to cook meat, especially chicken with that nasty white tendon running through the breast. Gag. We're both picky in our own ways, which doesn't help. I'm a boring cook, if you could even call me a cook. I want to be able to just throw stuff together to make a delish healthy meal, and that certainly doesn't happen. I collect recipes that I never use. If I could just make everything vegetarian (or change to be an omnivore, which will never happen) it would be easier. I think today I will go through some of my recipes and have a nice dinner waiting for him this evening...I take care of the financial stuff, but I haven't even been keeping up with that much lately. I was actually late on a payment, but thankfully they removed the extra fees and didn't raise my interest rate...He's really on me about getting serious about my health. What have I done about it? Ate two more donuts for brekkie. I'm getting fatter by the hour. Can't I just go outside for a walk? Perhaps today will be a good day for that - it's not over 80 and humid as. But the latter isn't even an excuse. I have DVDs and a phone app with exercises on it. Should be so easy. And I am so disgusted with my body, it just makes me want to eat more. I used to not eat when I was ultra depressed. Now it's the opposite. Wth? He just wants what's best for me and for me to take care of myself. Even if I can't do it for myself, I should do it for him. "I need you around," he told me last night...We had a talk a couple nights prior discussing my pill dependence and how I was not making any sense when I was talking, or I couldn't finish a sentence. That scares both of us. The worst thing that could happen to me would be to lose him somehow. I doubt he'd leave me, because he's too good of a guy, but you never know. I so often feel like a burden on him. That, among many other things, makes me sad. I even occasionally mention that and he laughs it off and tells me I'm not -- but he's got so much crap he has to deal with, then he comes home to a messy house, a fat wife and makes his own dinner. That isn't right. I'm not talking about being a old-school housewife, but I'm not really working - outside OR inside the home. So I should be up on the laundry and cleaning and doing things for him. I just feel like a waste of life sometimes...There's so much more to write about that subject, but I don't want to get into it right now. Bobby is on the telly singing Looks Like Rain. Some things take priority. hahahah

the family

What is family? Is it always the people who raised you or were raised with you? I don't believe that necessarily. Perhaps that's because my originating family is so fu**ed up. All of us have serious issues, some worse than others. My dad's dying of cancer, but he's also been having an affair for over 20 years, and it's my guess that there have been more than one. He should've done the right thing and divorced my mom years and years ago. They tried to stay together for the kids...and in the meantime all us kids are messed up from the constant chaos. I would've divorced my mother a long time ago if I was him. She's...got issues. She's a perfectionist with inappropriate filters. Or really, a lack of a filter. She's deeply depressed, but won't do anything about it (though I understand not wanting to take a bunch of pills and hit therapy all the time). She may be have some other mental issues, undiagnosed. She had a tempestuous relationship with her own mother and an unhealthy love for her father, since he actually showed her affection. So she has unresolved childhood issues that lead into a poor choice for marriage. Oh that is a whole other post, my mom. Especially about my wedding....my older brother has serious issues with women mainly b/c of her. His anger issues are rampant, but becoming more under control due to heavy therapy. His shyness, which is less than it used to be, is still daunting to many. He's actually much more balanced than the second (me) and third kid. The youngest somehow managed to miss a lot of the chaos, b/c, well, I don't know how. He's in therapy too and I am so proud of how well-adjusted he is. But us two middle kids are chaos incarnate. Especially my middle brother. He is an enraged alcoholic and addict who abuses a number of things and he's in a tortuous long-distance relationship. They met in rehab. Great eh? I know he's lonely but he's got a lot of work to do to himself before he can be with anyone else. And no matter how low he goes - legally dead, suicidal etc -- it doesn't seem to be rock bottom for him. My biggest fear for him is that...well, I don't know. Dead is the only bottom for him, it seems. I don't want that obviously. But I don't want him to continue to suffer in the mire like he has been for the past 15+ years -- that's not even including all the pain he's caused this family. He has no idea.... I'm trying to let go, like I keep being told, but he's my brother and we're close despite this shit....I'm over this entry. TMI

Apologies and forgiveness

I'm not trying to brag here, but there aren't too many people that I've really dicked over in my life to my knowledge. I'm a  pretty decent person all around. The opposite is not true. I've been screwed over by many a person, sometimes, admittedly because of my own actions. But not always....I've been in a very nostalgic mood lately and thought about two guys, well, one mainly (the other was more of a misinterpretation or misunderstanding rather than a "dicking over") that I seriously hurt. They may not admit it anymore, but I know it's true. And it is hurting me now. I need their forgiveness - the misunderstanding guy replied right away with a kind response, which made me feel a bit better. I mean, both these incidents happened over 20 years ago. (holy shit). But it's the other person who's leaving a hole in my ...? soul? heart? mind? because I feel like I really need his re-approval and forgiveness. I don't understand the demanding need I'm feeling at all. It basically came out of nowhere. Hadn't thought of him in years til I saw a photo of some of his friends I used to hang with too. Then it hit me like a shit storm. I'm a total asshole. I would be devastated if someone did to me what I did to him. Not like I hadn't been tossed around like a rag doll (not physically, emotionally) over and over for years. And I endured some serious pain. And I know what it feels like to have your emotions played with - it's an awful feeling, like a snake constricting your heart, then digging its fangs right in the center, bursting your heart into a million little pieces. Not like glass or china that can just be swept up and tossed away, or hidden beneath the rug. No, these pieces are raw and bleeding and burn like hell when you try to pick them up and get your life back together...Maybe time does NOT heal all wounds. I don't think I ever believed that anyway.... so  this person I'm trying to apologize to is completely ignoring my pleas and yes, my FB friend request. I thought, maybe he didn't recognize my last name since I'm now married, but that's bullshit. So now I'm hurt and bothered by this time period that's long gone b/c I can't get the closure (forgiveness, or hell, at least an acknowledgment). And that's ridiculous. Several people have told me I need to just let it go -- I tried to apologize and patch things up. I know things'd never be the same but this guy was one of my best friends for a few years. But my buddies tell me it's not worth it - it's in his court. They say he's not worth worrying about since I've tried (I'm trying), but as you can probably tell by now, I have a very difficult time letting things go. Not sure why. Not sure about a lot of things in this life...I haven't yet learned the art of forgiveness myself. Though I have forgiven a lot of people, I still hold grudges. Particularly against myself. How do I forgive myself for certain things, certain regrets? Yeah, Just Let Go. F that. I'd love to just let go. I just don't know how. Is it something you're born with or you learn? I'm trying...

turn on your lovelight

I was raped. There, I said it. Not many people know. My parents certainly don't...I was less than a  month into my 17th year and I was still a virgin and I was raped by a guy in a famous rock band. I can recall all the details as though it happened yesterday, not more than 20 years ago. I thank God it wasn't worse - I could've gotten pregnant or caught some horrible disease...but it was pretty freakin' awful, especially when he got off the bus and high-fived his bandmate. I shook like a leaf in the cool Colorado rain (to borrow a partial phrase). I thought I brought it on by the revealing clothes I wore. I thought I brought it on b/c we were kissing and I asked him to go somewhere more private, having no idea he'd take me to the tour bus bed, which is the size of a coffin. It felt like a coffin. Part of me died that day. I begged him not to, told him I'd never had sex before, but he didn't believe me and went on with it. I had no room to move in a coffin built for one person. To borrow another phrase - am I the victim or the crime? It took my  best friend at the time to tell me I was raped. I didn't understand. I don't know that I've ever truly processed it. I think it's affected many of my poor decisions since then, my regrets, my shame/s . It's invalidated me in a way I never thought it could...well, that coupled with the invalidation from my childhood (unintentional, I'm sure). Is this why I'm so fucked up? I can't keep blaming my past though. I need to take control of my present and future. But I know I have some deep burning issues that stem from my childhood and the rape and the arrest. Oh I didn't mention that? And having my heart broken all in a year and a half's time. Part of what saved me is the Grateful Dead. The music, the scene, the men with the voices like angels, the man with the shorts. Turn on Your LoveLight.... I'm trying.

tears of

As the tears run down my face like a turbulent river, I don't even know why I'm crying. I mean, I do - there are several reasons, but nothing makes much sense right now. And I often wonder when people speak of tears of happiness if that really exists. I've had tears of sadness, being overwhelmed, and undeclared, but I don't think I've ever cried out of sheer joy or happiness. Even at my wedding, where my heart was bursting with elation, I didn't cry. But now it seems a day doesn't go by when I'm not in tears for some unpleasant reason. I even cried last night when watching the ending of How I Met Your Mother - a show I rarely even watch. Why did they have to make the mother die? They could've just gotten a freakin' divorce. I guess I'm overwhelmed right now. We have zero income, a high rent, and many bills, not to even mention health insurance issues. Between my chronic body pain and constant depression, I'm a bloody mess. And I'm also censoring myself. For instance, I would've written "I'm an F*&()^% mess" but I've been told that I've been writing/posting a bit too crazily lately. But I am who I am, right? I'm trying. I'm trying to not be a puddle of sludge, but that's what I feel like. I know other people are going through much worse trials than I/we are, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong to feel wrong. Right? I started this blog with the intention of just writing to write, to practice, to be able to really call myself a writer, but it's turned into a journal of negativity. I'm trying not to be so negative. I'm trying to keep on truckin' - nothing left to do but smile smile smile. But even that phrase makes me a little sad b/c it's from a Grateful Dead song called He's Gone and that title alone has a lot of variant meanings to me right now. Maybe this can turn into one of those ultra depressing memoirs that people are writing these days to make other people feel better about themselves. Hey, at least you don't have to deal with X, Y, Z, 1, 2, 3; but this is what I'm going through right now. I got fired from a job with no heads up, no explanation and really no reasonable, um, reason. And a person who claimed to be my friend who was involved has done nothing to help the situation except try to excuse herself from blame. I was blown sideways. I expected them to extend my contract, due to scheduling, not fire me, rudely, on a Monday afternoon at 4:00 pm. I lost out on a month's income, which was a lot of money...then probably less than a week later, came the vicious claims against my husband, none of which are anywhere close to the truth. He's being punished, severely, for being a kind and gentle soul. Tears of anger....Just got back from an almost 10 day visit with my ailing father, who is weaker and weaker by the day. And had to endure hours upon hours of his wife's yammering about everything and nothing. I mean, she's an intelligent lady, but she's completely un-self-aware and thinks I want to hear stories about her early days with my dad...which occurred while he was still married to my mother. No, thank you, I don't care about your shitty kids, with whom she talks multiple times a day. Hmmm, something's not right with that. You need to talk to your daughter 3-5 times per day? Really? Tears of frustration....No, I don't want to hear about your eldest son who's stupid as a box of rocks and used to do unseemly things involving someone very close to me when this person was a child. No touching that I know of, but other, indecent and horrible things, that she either doesn't know about or is in denial about. Yeah bitch, your kids ain't perfect. Tears of bitterness....No wonder I'm always craving salt - I lose most of it onto my face.... I'm trying to deal with the unacceptable fact that another person very close to me is losing his battle with the violent demons of addiction that he's been fighting for over 15 years. Darkness surrounds him as he constantly weathers storms that are sometimes his fault and sometimes not his fault. Sometimes it's the Darkness that is killing him. Sometimes it's the drugs and alcohol. Sometimes it's the self-hatred, sometimes it's the guilt that doesn't belong. Tears of helplessness.... I'm writing all this to get some release for my soul, not because I want pity. I feel pitted beneath the weight of mountains sometimes, which my faith is too weak to move. Tears of ineptness....

Zero inspiration

Zero inspiration is what I have right now. Not to write. Not to work (if I had it). Not to exercise (but when have I ever?). I only want to listen to Bobby Weir's beautiful voice streaming through my headphones. I wish Jerry and the Dead were still around. I can't believe it's been almost 19 years since Jerry died. I knew I would never wane in my love for that band, and seeing/hearing Bobby again recently renewed that fire. He still sings like an angel, even if he dresses like a homeless person. I don't care. I just want to listen to him sing...It brings joy to my heart and a smile to my lips, which doesn't happen very often these days. I've had some horrible things happen to me in the past, but I also used to have a lot of fun and thrilling times. I don't get that thrill anymore and it brings me down. I need a break from this constant depression. I need a break from living in Atlanta and I've only been here a year and a half. I need a break from being in my 40s. I need the thrills of dating rock stars, going on Dead tour, seeing live music several nights a week and dancing like a noodle in boiling water. I need the thrill of jumping out of an airplane, of dancing on stage with the Grateful Dead, the fast pace of LA, and working in the TV industry. I've done some very cool things in my life, which should replace all the bad memories, but they don't. I'm too busy living in my head, reliving even high school parties and always drinking too much (not saying I want to drink like I used to though...I was a problem drinker). I need the thrill of going to Autzen Stadium with my stah to watch our Ducks play, having happy hours every Thursday, and becoming a vegetarian. I need to DO things. We just don't have the money I wish we had to do what I need to do. And honestly, I can't live my life doing all these things without some income. Ahh to be an heiress. I don't just want to do these things, I need to do these things. Jerry is dead so I'll never feel that anticipation and pure ecstasy of a Grateful Dead show. Phish and My Morning Jacket and Bobby are close, but it's just not the same. I am not in my 20s anymore, so I can't go out drinking and partying like I used to. The absolutely best, most thrilling thing in my life is my marriage to my soul mate. And I'm not complaining about my marriage...except perhaps that I keep seeming to try and sabotage it somehow. He is the best thing to ever happen to me, dancing onstage with the Grateful Dead be damned. Though that's second for sure...I'm just scared. Scared of getting old. Scared of being bored. Scared of my loved ones dying or dying myself. Scared of all the shit in this world and that has dulled me to the core. They say money can't buy happiness, but being wealthy with my husband would absolutely make me happy. I think. Maybe I'm not meant to be happy. Uh oh. I'm getting into the Victim stage right now. Sorry....changing subjects to....I got a blank space where my mind should be (Phish)... What a shitty entry.

he looks different

He looks different now. He looks...old. His head is shaved. His skin is pallid. He looks tired, worn-out, exhausted and heartbroken. He's often lost in thought. You would be too if you had a death sentence hanging over your head. My dad, like many others, has cancer. It started in his prostate - he went to three specialists who told him it couldn't be cancer because of a radical procedure he had a few years prior to his diagnosis. By that time, he started slurring his words and couldn't see straight. His girlfriend, now wife, took him to the ER only to find out he had a large brain tumor. But the docs weren't worried. They said it was so big and in such an odd place that it couldn't be cancer. Wrong again. So now it's spread to his brain...then all the bones from his pelvis up...then to his kidney. Cancer is eating him alive. Did I mention what he does for a living? He's an oncologist/hematologist. Yup. He's spent his entire life helping other people deal with this terrible, horrifying, destructive disease and now it's slowly taking his life...We do feel blessed, as his initial prognosis was 1-2 years, and he's been around a little over 3 years. That, to me, is miraculous. He still works two days a week, but they're about to take that away from him b/c they need a full-time doc. What will he do then? He's lost his ability to do most of the things he loved to do - playing golf being one of the biggest. He can't travel much, can't walk too far, can't stand too long, can't sleep because of the incredible pain and the nausea from the chemo. Doesn't have much of an appetite. Doesn't even enjoy the sports that used to occupy much of his time - his beloved Packers and Wisconsin Badgers. But he is the strongest fighter I know. He does as much as he can, makes plans for the future and really rarely complains. He is an inspiration of the greatest kind to me....I'm trying. I'm trying to stay upbeat when I get to visit him. I'm trying to help him, but not too much - he's a very proud and stubborn man too. I'm trying to stay in the Now, enjoy the time I'm being blessed with him and stop thinking so much about the coming weeks, months, years. I'm trying to cut back on the tears I shed for him, the sobs that shatter my body. I'm trying to stop being in my head so much that I'm missing out on what's happening now. He lives in South Carolina and we're here now, my husband and I. Here Now. Making new memories. Sharing stories; he loves to talk about growing up and his high school and college years...Then he shares a story about one of the many nights I didn't come home because I was too drunk (though he didn't know that) and he was so worried he shut down his office and went down to the bar I was last seen at, which was by the Ohio river. He said, "If she's in there, I want to be the one to find her." I had no idea he had done that. I remember the night vividly though I can't recall how old I was. Weirdest part was that it wasn't the first time I'd stayed out all night without calling. My mom was a mess too. I feel awful about that and lots of other things I've done in my life that caused them panic, shame or anger. I'm trying not to do that anymore...though I am a 40+ year old, I know I can still cause pain. And still do.

It's not about me, is it? Because if it is, I can't help you. I'm not sure who I am, really. I can tell you who he is, as I look down at the curve of his sleeping face, glowing in the soft light from the lamp. He is kind. He is caring. He is loving. He is hilarious. He is intelligent. He is articulate, Christian, likely Libertarian, but he'll always say Anarchist. He loves his family. He loves children, though neither of us wants our own. He teaches Sunday School. He works for a non-profit in a literary capacity, mostly kids, but some adults. His heart is transparent. Is he too good for me? Sometimes I wonder...I caress his cheek and gently wake him up from his Valium-induced nap, which he desperately needs. The accusations against him are so malicious and career-ending; it's simply unbelievable. I'm trying. I'm trying to understand what is happening with him...I'm trying to understand what just happened with me? Who threw me under the bus and why? He's asking pretty much the same questions. But for greater consequential answers. I'm considering the fact that I'm going to have to stop calling myself a producer. I can still call myself a writer, or can I? I start these fucking blogs all the time and never get past 3 - 5 entries. I don't write every day. Hell, I don't even write every month, unless I'm actually working, which has been about 3-5 times since my dad was diagnosed. So no, I'm not much of a writer either...I'm up for a gig at church, which I thought would be a full-time producer. It's more of an assistant/program manager position. And they already told me that even $1000/week is way out of their league. But I can't continue to associate myself and my success with how much money I feel I'm entitled to. I'm not "entitled" to anything. Everything I have is because of God...but if so how come I live in and through so much pain. Much the pain of others. My own fault, no doubt. I just don't know how to change myself. And boy do I need to. I weigh 20 lbs more than my previous heaviest and that makes me a fat pig who can't control herself when it comes to Keebler's Grasshopper....