(Postmarked 5 May, 2001, when I was living in Portland, Oregon, with Garreth. This is the last of the letters)
Sitting here, the earth is damp and smells wonderful, the wind is pushing the leaves around, and all greenery is smiling. God was good to us today...rare, blessed rain. Just makes you want to get naked and wallow in a puddle.
Did some house and AA bldg. cleaning and came home to an unhappy pain in the ass I call my sig. other. (Why won't he just disappear like a rainbow.) So demanding, so rude. He feels me pulling away with disdain and crushed, retaliates weakly. Dramatic huh?
Life is kind. I love my family and friends and try to stay as far from the house until the guilotine falls. It sucks. That which was once lovely has turned to pig poo poo; though at present, it could be mended and life go on in a spiritless sort of fashion with no sharing and me listening to hill Jack shit on the TV and sharing my life with a man who brags that he has never read a book or appreciated art, and keeps asking, "What does that word mean?" I am too caustic. Beneath all the crap Todd is a good man. Good just isn't enough when a brain has turned to mush from lack of challenge or stimulation though. I am too hard on him. He made a mistake and banded with me, the restless bitch that wouldn't be happy because boredom strikes quickly and the spirit of new pushes at my back. Oh such high drama - isn't it fun and aren't I ever mans nightmare. (They all think I'm so kind until the have the misfortune of being ensnared in my hastily built web.) The house is full of boys (which also pisses Todd off...I think I'll invite a few street people to move in - he hates and fears their hold on my heart. Eric is here...a friend of his, Sean (until tomorrow), and another in the travel trailer out in the side yard. All my little ones who are not ready to fly...or find staying here free far more appealing than soaring and being responsible. I just want a dry cave and a ton of books...a few intelligent friends, and my loved ones around. Sometimes life is just too full...I need a deserted island for a week or so to fill me back up with me. Julie my dear, I love you. I know you don't want to hear it but I do. Your quick wit, lively mind, abilities, sense of high drama, your urge to soar, questioning mind, and beauty quickens my heart. Unfortunately I was the pod you entered life through. I'm not too good at anything and harmed your spirit, which I will always regret. I never meant it to happen. Seems that I hurt the ones closest to me, the ones I love the best. I wish I could take all this time back, know what I know about life now, and do it all over again, right. I wish that my addictions had never gotten in the way of my heart and my selfishness in the way of my responsibilities. I'm a nomad, not that I want to be, but it's a part of me I cannot change. I'm not Beaver Cleavers mom, just a rebel trying to exert a little self control...and mourn at my inability to be a good mother...but I can be a good friend and do love you as a mother loves her child, and always will. I'm just not good at it. Bi-polarity, although a wee bit under control, still takes me to Never - Never Land then drops me on my head. At present I am doing absolutely nothing interesting. The second book is shelved - I'm too scattered. No Newspaper articles. A few poems. But the garden is lush and is my 15 square feet of flowers and serenity. A little chunk of peace in my whirling world. I need a break from my head. You, if anyone, knows what I mean. You understand me and I do you too.
Well my dear, I will close for now and will flip the processor back on soon. I hope you and Gareth are content (which is much better than happy). Happiness is so fleeting, a brilliant spark of red and purple. Contentment a warm green and blue - much easier on the eyes and spirit. Please send me a picture of you two. I would like to see what Gareth looks like - and even more, would like to meet him. Peace.
I love you -