tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110147652024-03-08T08:31:56.301+05:00maarmie's musings WELL-BEHAVED WOMEN CAN EAT SHIT AND DIEmaarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.comBlogger390125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-69811905813035169182023-06-03T00:46:00.000+05:002023-06-03T00:46:12.268+05:00My last day<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sunday 8 January<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I got to work an hour early to show
Billy the document and talk about the complaint. Billy said he had a lot of
work to do between 9 and 10 so I left to get coffee and came back for the start
of my shift. At 10 am, Billy and I went in the big office and he shut the door.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He started the conversation by telling
me he had talked to x about the complaint and about the two routes we could
go with it and that sometime after talking to x about the complaint and today
he had decided to tell Yvonne about me trying to catch up with him after the
first night out and about the note I showed him in the cash office reminding
him that I had told him I loved him on the Christmas night out. He told Yvonne
I had been “harassing” him. I then told Billy that he threw me under the bus to
cover his ass. He just sat there looking at me but didn’t say anything. He said
Yvonne would have wanted to know why I had been crying that day, as detailed in
the complaint. I told Billy that I wish he hadn’t done that because I had come
in the next day and made up a “bullshit reason” why I was crying and that I had
fixed things. He sat there with his head down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I told Billy I would never want to get
him in trouble and that we could go the informal route. I also told him I felt
like he was threatening me and coercing me into choosing the informal route. He
responded by saying I could choose any route I wanted but he said it in a
menacing way and I told him I didn’t feel I could speak freely with him. I felt
he had already started turning on me to protect himself but still wanted me to
put in the complaint because I think he hates Yvonne (I told him I knew that he
hated her) and because I felt that he genuinely wanted to try to fix issues in
the store relating to her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">After Billy told me that he had
painted me as his harasser to Yvonne, I told him that I thought he had liked
me. He said he never liked me that way but that he liked me as an associate and
we had good banter. I asked him what about the kiss. He tried to deny the kiss
at first but then admitted it and added that it “wasn’t a full-on kiss” and
that he “had never done that before.” I took that to mean he had never cheated
on his partner before.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I showed Billy the document but
offered to not submit it if that’s what he wanted so as to keep him out of
trouble. He read the document and said he had had no knowledge of most of the
things in it. I told Billy I felt I couldn’t sit down with them to discuss it
as I couldn’t face Yvonne about the complaint, especially after Billy made out
to her that I was harassing him. He said Yvonne wouldn’t say anything about the
“harassment” and wouldn’t say anything negative to me about the complaint after
I put it in. I told him if I kept working there Sundays after that, I couldn’t
work with Yvonne as I was afraid of retaliation from her. He told me I would
have to as he doesn’t work every Sunday. I then asked him when the next Sunday
was that she was working. He said she was working the following Sunday so I
told him that today would be my last day. He told me to go do cash office and
think about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I went and did cash office and wrote a
one-sentence resignation letter. I was angry that Billy shifted blame of our
inappropriate relationship solely to me and that he expected me to work with
Yvonne after putting in my complaint against her. I went back in the office
after cash office and gave him the resignation letter. I told him that now that
I’m his “harasser” I can’t be around him anymore and that I can’t be around
Yvonne after all this. I said now that I’m his “harasser” I’m assuming he would
never give me a reference if I needed one in the future. He told me he would give
me any reference I wanted and he tried to get me to stay on for a couple of
weeks to see the complaint through. I told him I didn’t want my 13 years there to end like this and he said to wait a couple weeks and he would arrange a
leaving gift for me. I was angry at how everything turned out and told him “I
don’t want anything from this fucking place.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Before I left, he asked me to send the
document to his work email so he could talk to Yvonne about it and I told him I
didn’t want to submit it anymore. He told me it’s very important to send it and
that he’s not like her and is wanting to fix things in the store. He gave me
his work email address and I sent it to him saying that at least I won’t have
to face the consequences from Yvonne as I will no longer be working there and
that I hoped it would do some good in the future. I left without talking to
anyone else in the store.<o:p></o:p></span></p>maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-68195812747229168042023-06-01T02:49:00.005+05:002023-06-03T00:39:10.330+05:00Confessions are falling down<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Billy and I had a flirtatious
relationship between approximately March 2022 and the time I left my job, except for a few months in between when I was frustrated with the
flirtation and started staying away from Billy on a personal level and searching
for another job to get away from him and the frustration. I also wanted to find
a job that is more meaningful to me now that I am 50 years old and now that my
daughter is old enough to be on her own after school.</span></p>maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-60007422710813220822015-11-17T03:13:00.001+05:002015-11-17T03:13:36.960+05:00Nothing ever changes<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 18.48px;">The only reason I'm writing this is because my asshole friend Kevin keeps nagging me to write. I honesty don't know why he cares, but I want to get him off my back for awhile, so here it is.</span><br />
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 18.48px;">
It has been just more than eight years since I have moved to Scotland. In that time, it doesn't feel like I've done much except have a baby and work part time. It seems life is just drifting by while I stand still, barely complacent in my current situation and afraid to really change all that much about it.<br /><br />My daughter turns eight in February. She is in P3 at a local primary school and is clearly quite bright, if largely lazy and unmotivated by anything other than a fear of TV or tablet time being taken away or coming in second place at anything. She is as competitive as she is her very own worst critic. She vacillates between exuding confidence bordering on arrogance and battling a crippling self consciousness she attempts to patch over with loud volume and awkward behaviour. She can be the most infuriating person I have ever met, but she is also one of the most generous and kind. She is bossy, but she is thoughtful. She is impetuous but insightful. She can see to the heart of everything. She is terribly flawed, but she is also a better person than I will ever be.<br /><br />I know that it's time to develop a life for myself, that I can't just keep working part time at a shop and hoping things get better for me one day. My life right now looks like this:<br /><br />7:30 - 8 am: Wake up<br />9:05: Leave the house to take E to school<br />9:30: Leave the school and head to work<br />10 - 2 pm: Work<br />2:10: Pick up a large skinny latte with sugar-free caramel from the local Costa<br />2:15 - 3: Run errands on the way to E's school<br />3: Pick up E from school<br /><br />On Mondays, I take E to a Brownies meeting. Thursdays, she has guitar lessons. If E is spending the weekend at her father's house, I usually sit home alone. I sleep a lot and watch movies and eat. I spend too much time on Facebook. I don't have hardly any friends, and I've managed to make more enemies than friends since I have lived here.</div>
maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-70774382218426224492013-05-11T12:59:00.002+05:002013-05-11T12:59:46.843+05:0041Tomorrow, I turn 41. I don't think I'll be receiving a nervous breakdown combined with several weeks of deep depression like I did last year, but there are gifts from my brother and from Elliot so I won't be coming away completely emptyhanded.<br />
<br />
This year, for the first time, I won't be getting a birthday card from my parents. The last time we spoke was a year ago January. At the end of that conversation, my dad said he would be calling me much more frequently but then decided he'd never be taking to me again only he never told me why. I didn't know this last March when I phoned grandma only to reach a disconnected line. I called dad time and agian to find out what happened to grandma, but they never called back. Then, last Mayish, I called him all times of day and night and left tearful messages about feeling alone and scared and begging him to call me back. Nope. It's not to be.<br />
<br />
What happened to grandma, you ask? Well, dad and stepmom decided to move her against her will to a place that can provide extra care for her in her dementiated state but didn't think my brother or I needed to know about it. When it was obvious they weren't going to tell me what happened or how to get hold of her, my brother asked them three times, in person and on the phone, for her updated phone number. They wouldn't give him the info, either, so he decided to just search for her in the White Pages online. He found the new number, so I called her and talked to her for awhile, making sure to tell her that my parents kept the information from us even though we repeatedly asked for it. Oooh, snap!<br />
<br />
So I guess my grandma told the horrible beasts that I called her, and female horrible beast asked brother how I got her phone number. Brother told female horrible beast that I looked it up online (I told him he could say it was me) and that was that. I talked to my grandmother's sister the other day. She says that female horrible beast is in charge of grandma's finances and billpaying and that, not only do they rarely visit her but that female horrible beast won't even give her money for a haircut. If I was there, this shit wouldn't be going on, I assure you. But there's nothing I can do from here, especially when the horrible beasts won't even give me a chance to excoriate them.<br />
<br />
Since the horrible beasts refuse to talk to me or call me back and since they reportedly didn't seem to much care when they heard I was ill but they find it necessary, still, to send birthday and Christmas cards signed "with love" (as if they know the meaning of the word) I decided to send them a note to end the painful charade. So, months ago, I sent them this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKelfDQ7FGmgnuEi6MbCILsl4biUEwWcLToCrrt4YZ1LNvv0s7H7SKSgaeMefEcyzJW1clhX54ezB5mkytM2Hhk0dLBvUNrnnzal6lvWxB7CcM_qNxy5jK5OxIfGw-JQUbaIn/s1600/goodbye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKelfDQ7FGmgnuEi6MbCILsl4biUEwWcLToCrrt4YZ1LNvv0s7H7SKSgaeMefEcyzJW1clhX54ezB5mkytM2Hhk0dLBvUNrnnzal6lvWxB7CcM_qNxy5jK5OxIfGw-JQUbaIn/s320/goodbye.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I take it they received it, because I didn't get a card from them for my birthday for the first time ever. Good riddance, horrible beasts.<br />
<br />
maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-84855903184092863402013-03-27T23:32:00.000+05:002013-03-27T23:43:14.471+05:00I almost diedCool title, eh? I almost died. I almost died? I almost died! I did!<br />
<br />
So it all started out with a virus. You know, one of those viruses noone can do anything for. You just have a fever and chills and headaches and feel queasy and you've vomited a few times and it'll pass and there's nothing we can do for you and you just have to wait it out kind of thing. Only I didn't get better. I kept getting worse. And that's not like me. Even when I had swine flu, I was comatose in my bed with fever and vomiting for two days and then I was feeling much, much better. With this virus, the sweats and chills kept coming for more than a week, I was getting paler and paler, the headaches became a constant companion, and I couldn't walk more than two steps without having to sit down for a rest.<br />
<br />
The first time I went to the doctor for the virus, he took a urine sample (dark orange in colour) and tested it for glucose (negative) did the whole temperature, blood pressure, oxygen level thing and sent me on my way. By the end of that week, I was feeling even more crappy, so I figured I should talk to the doctor again. All they would give me was a telephone appointment. He reiterated it was a virus and that I should just rest, etc.<br />
<br />
That weekend was a nightmare with me not even being able to wash more than two dishes without needing a rest. The headaches were intensifying, and I knew something must be seriously wrong. The following Monday, I made an emergency appointment at my surgery but requested a different doctor. I went in to that appointment knowing that if I was turned away with "it's only a virus" I was going straight to the emergency room because I could no longer really function. I could barely take care of Elliot, and I was miserable.<br />
<br />
The new doctor took one look at me and became concerned. She noted my "interesting colouring" and tested my urine for protein (positive) and felt my abdomen and did other routine tests and ordered blood tests. She was hoping the results of the blood tests would be in that night and personally phoned me at half 7 that night to say they weren't in yet. The next afternoon, I got a call from a nurse at the surgery who mentioned something about a blood transfusion and booked me in to see the same doctor three hours later. I went to the appointment and sat with the doctor as she looked at the blood results for the first time. She said I was severely anaemic (normal red blood cell count is between 118 and 148 and mine was 79 at the time) and said she was getting on the phone right then to get me booked into the hospital. She asked if I could go right away and I said "Please. Please can I go right away."<br />
<br />
An hour later I was booked into ward 6c and would move to 6a then 5c before being released three days later. In that time, I had a blood transfusion of 3 units of O+ (my red blood cell count had fallen to 59) and one of the thoughts was that I had leukemia given that my marrow had stopped producing red blood cells altogether. There were mumblings of a bone marrow test (cringe) but then they discovered the dirty little secret about myself that I didn't even know: I have a hereditary red blood cell disorder called spherocytosis. I was basically a time bomb waiting to go off my entire life, and I finally did.<br />
<br />
I have since found out that my paternal grandfather had spherocytosis and that my uncle and cousin both have it. I'm assuming my dad is a carrier of the gene that causes my red blood cells to be produced as spheres instead of flat pillows with concave sides thereby making them weaker and more prone to bursting and makes my spleen see them as foreign bodies it is determined to kill. Because my red blood cells have a much shorter life span than other people's, my bone marrow is used to producing many, many times the number of blood cells that a normal person does. However, I just happened to have contracted parvovirus and this one virus in particular causes bone marrow to stop producing red blood cells altogether for a short time. For the average person, this is no big deal. For me, this is fatal without intervention.<br />
<br />
A scan of my abdomen shows my spleen to be twice the size it should be and shows my gall bladder to contain three small gallstones, another side effect of this hereditary condition. The haemotology outpatient department of the hospital will be monitoring me on an ongoing basis to see if my spleen grows or shrinks and to check me to make sure I don't become chronically anaemic. If my spleen grows or I become chronically anaemic, I will have my spleen removed (and my gall bladder removed at the same time, what the heck!) and will go on low-grade antibiotics for the rest of my life. As it is now, I'm taking a monster-strength amount of folic acid every day for the rest of my life to keep my marrow producing just as fast as it possibly can.<br />
<br />
After I got out of the hospital, I had all sorts of other issues that seemed to spring from being in the hospital and off my feet for a few weeks. I developed tendonitis in both legs and had severe leg cramps in my calves to the point of being unable to walk and handing Elliot over to her dad as I could no longer care for her. I went and stayed with a friend for a week. She cooked for me the entire week so I only had to get up for the toilet, and that, and only that, is what enabled me to get better. I have been in the emergency room several times since with various leg pains and chest pains and have had my heart, lungs and legs checked and rechecked. Nothing is wrong with my heart of lungs, but I can't help feeling like my whole body has completely turned on me.<br />
<br />
I was off work for 5 weeks. Now, almost six weeks after the first sign of virus, I am still anaemic (last count was 114 but I'm on a very heavy period right now and I'm all pale and slightly dizzy again) and my liver function is all off. They have done toxicity tests and tests for Hepatitis C and other viruses that could cause it to be off but have found no other cause as of yet. Either my liver function has always been off and I've never known it or all the medication and the parvovirus are still throwing it for a loop. <br />
<br />
All I know is that I'm tired of all the bloodlettings, and my arms and hands are begging for a reprieve.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-15309688868379736292013-01-13T20:04:00.002+05:002013-01-14T14:40:44.681+05:00Letter #7(Postmarked 5 May, 2001, when I was living in Portland, Oregon, with Garreth. This is the last of the letters)<br />
<br />
Sunday Evening<br />
<br />
Hi Honey,<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I love you - <br />
<br />
Janinemaarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-69057937996233185982013-01-13T20:02:00.001+05:002013-01-13T20:02:08.476+05:00Letter #6(Postmarked 29 May, 1998)<br />
<br />
Thursday the 28th<br />
<br />
My Dearest Julie,<br />
<br />
Thank you for replying so quickly. And thank you also for including some of your favorite articles. "a bizarre series of installations and videos" - love it. And "become a vicious character and prepare to defend life and limb against..." - has life. Julie, you're good. Talented. Your work is smooth, no chop to it, and deals with the meat - excluding flowery nonessentials. Shit, I'm not a critic but I like your "stuff". And true...your name on an article is better than any high you can buy on the streets...for me too.<br />
<br />
"You Hit Me, Kiss Me, Keep me alive, Make me die" must have been a catharsis for you. Chances are some other young girl in a similar situation may see the light through your article and realize that there is a way out...and will gather the courage to make a stand. Sometimes our work CAN make a difference.<br />
<br />
Baby, I know you're angry at me. How could you not be? I want you to know that it's ok to vent - to be truthful and dump that hostility on me. I can take it. If you don't, that anger will turn inward and can cause deep depression. I know. I bottled all that childhood pain and became an angry rebel. I want you to do whatever it takes to make you whole.<br />
<br />
Re: Eric. He's got his life together after two years in PAR and is working, going to meetings, and has a nice girlfriend. Yes, he was an asshole when you were at the house. He was in the throws of his addictions and self-centered to boot. He's still self centered, but aren't we all - to a certain extent.<br />
<br />
I wasn't doing too well then either - locked in a codependent relationship. Should have never gone off for that weekend. It was an empty two days that caused so many problems and lingering ill feelings. I will always regret it.<br />
<br />
I'm glad the Escort served you as well as it did me. Kind of a shame that it has to die, but I'm happy you could use it as long as you did.<br />
<br />
A couple years have passed Julie; there's no more chaos in my life. I'm finally settled and serene. Life is simple - just the way it was always meant to be...and, as always (even though it may not have seemed that way) I love you. Sometimes I fee that you're me and I'm you (if you know what I mean). I DON'T want to loose you again. Your letter gave me hope that we could be close. I know I can't be your mother, even tho' I am, but I can love and accept you unconditionally - can be your friend. So...if you are ready, baby, so am I. It may be rocky for a while but that's ok...you're worth it. No matter what...I will always love you.<br />
<br />
Janine (Mom)<br />
<br />
P.S. Your Christmas present was an angel on tile...delicate. Don't know why you didn't receive it. I mailed it to this same address.<br />
<br />
Please send me a picture of you and Garreth.<br />
<br />
If you decide to take in Big Sky and your grandmother let me know. Mom would be pleased and you'd probably love the serenity.<br />
<br />
Again...Julie, I love you.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-59880718617902883582013-01-13T20:00:00.000+05:002013-01-13T20:09:14.775+05:00Letter to Mom(I either took this letter back or was given it after Janine died in 2004. Postmarked 18 May, 1998)<br />
<br />
Janine,<br />
<br />
Thanks for the birthday card - it was really nice of you to send that.<br />
<br />
I guess there's a lot to catch you up on considering we haven't made contact with each other in nearly three years.<br />
<br />
Since last October, I have been working at the Tallahassee Democrat, the area's only daily newspaper. I am a news assistant, but I am doing my best to learn as much as I can there before my boyfriend, Garreth, and I move to Seattle.<br />
<br />
We were hoping to leave by August, but now it seems December is more realistic.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so far at the paper I've been doing obituaries, working in the library and helping out at the Capitol Bureau during the legislative session.<br />
<br />
I've gotten articles in the paper, too. I even have my own column called "Tallahassee Traveler" about different people's travel experiences. I wrote a 37" article about domestic violence (an editorial about my experiences w/Ike) and I've written a second one about me quitting smoking (it's only been 3 weeks so far) But I'm most proud of my two legislative stories - one made it to the top of the legislative page and one hit the top of the front page - that's a news assistant first!<br />
<br />
Anyway, I have 13 by-lines to my credit and expect 3 more within three weeks. Plus, I may be getting a promotion into doing the copyediting and layout for a section of the paper - all the writing I do is considered "freelance" and is done on my own time - I get paid overtime for it by the department that had me write the story -<br />
<br />
Anyway -<br />
<br />
I would like to set up a journalism internship @ the Seattle Times, a much bigger operation than the Democrat and I would like to get a masters degree in Journalism. Right now the money sucks, so I'm getting a 2nd job. Other than that, there's not much news.<br />
<br />
How have you been?<br />
<br />
I gather from the return address that you live in a house, but I don't know much more, and neither do Brian & Cindy, it seems, as I grill them about you all the time to no avail.<br />
<br />
Hope you are fine.. Anyway, my # is (850) 575-4536<br />
e-mail - <a href="mailto:jab8232@garnet.acns.fsu.edu">jab8232@garnet.acns.fsu.edu</a> or <a href="mailto:tdtravel@hotmail.com">tdtravel@hotmail.com</a><br />
<br />
Juliemaarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-47148152776259006762013-01-02T13:24:00.000+05:002013-01-02T13:24:52.810+05:00Letter #5Thursday<br />
<br />
My Dearest Julie,<br />
<br />
Hi honey. I was so kinda relieved to get your letter. I thought I had pissed you off in the last I wrote to you, 'cause I didn't hear right back (I'm greedy).<br />
<br />
Dallas/Ft. Worth. Never been more than through it so I have no information to base a judgment on. I know you like big cities so you'll probably like the fever of it. Hope you can get on with the paper of your choice! You're good...can't see any reason why you wouldn't be grabbed up. Hell, they will consider themselves fortunate to have you on staff.<br />
<br />
Please send a copy of your "daily". What did they assign? I'd like to read it. All the articles you've sent, I've kept. Julie, I'm SO proud of you.<br />
<br />
You've come such a long way, healed so much, developed your self esteem (no, earned it), grown GROWN. I hope you're as proud of your success as I am of you. I know it's been a long, tough journey. Perhaps that is what makes it so valuable...the tears, struggles, and just the act of keeping on...no matter what.<br />
<br />
Have had some minor successes here. Am in the process of the finality of "Road Dog Warriors". I will be shipping it out next week. Did a complete rewrite - add ons, deletions, and revision. I have written the query letter including an overview of the book. Bio's done. Just need to complete the outlines and I'm procrastinating on that. Afraid of rejection. Rejection, after three years of work, would really hurt. Anyway...the publishing house I was in contact with wanted to know what I could do here to help market the book. Contacted: WUSF, Channel 3, Channel 13, Channel 10, and Channel 8...all are willing to do interviews with me if (when) the book is published...and Gayle Sierens called me. Both papers - the Trib and Times - will do articles. Barnes and Noble - a signing. And the public library wants me to be a guest speaker. Love that positive feed...almost makes me feel like the book is already on the way to the presses. Little blind successes.<br />
<br />
Julie, am reading a book that I think you would enjoy (if you haven't already read it). "The Liars' Club" by Mary Carr. Her descriptive capabilities are honed and detailed, but not so detailed that it bores. If you get a chance, check it out.<br />
<br />
You wanted to know about Tommy. Sounds like he's about the same as Garreth as far as insecurities and needing to grow up. He's an outdoors person. Stable. Faithful. Makes a decent wage. Very dependent on me - instead of making friends and doing guy things...and it makes me push him away. He's kind, quiet, and somewhat apologetic. Short, mustached, and has pretty eyes. He'd defend my defects against the world. Deprive himself for me. Not the bad boy - intellect rising, that I want...but a nice person.<br />
<br />
Damn, I don't think I'll ever settle down. When the book sells, maybe I should go live in the mountains alone and write...so I won't hurt anyone else. Commitment is such an impossibility for me. I want it all - freedom, security, friends, alone time, but basically freedom...freedom from drudgery, freedom to let my mind soar and stay where it will. Freedom to go - or stay. Freedom to be the best bi-polar me I can be...and not hurt anyone.<br />
<br />
My street "warriors" are having a hell of a time now. Teenagers here have developed a new sport called Catch A Street Person and Kick His Ass. Gangs (Bloods, Crypts, and "normal kids") are finding loners and beating them up. Calhoun was in the paper a couple weeks ago after four boys beat him badly and Hippy got four ribs shattered by eight feet (and a gash in the back of his head) last Sunday. Calhouns assailants were apprehended and a couple of the guys that caught Hippy too. But Donn's weren't - he got his teeth kicked out. Or Boston's - he was beaten with a tree limb. Or many others. I still love the street people and very much care about them. The authorities and the punks are all coming down on them at one time and...who do they go to for help?<br />
<br />
Julie, I love you and I love your letters. Please keep them coming. And remember...I'm here if you need a friend. - or even if you don't.<br />
<br />
I love you baby,<br />
<br />
Janinemaarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-69851020391120270992012-12-28T06:15:00.002+05:002012-12-28T06:19:24.616+05:00Merry Christmas card!Surprise of all surprises! My parents sent a Christmas card this year. I wasn't expecting it at all, especially considering I didn't send my father a birthday card or Father's Day card this year. I didn't send them a Christmas card this year, either, the first time in my entire life I haven't done so. I'm trying to send the message that I'm done. I assumed that, considering they haven't bothered to contact me since we last spoke in January, they were done as well. But I guess sending a card doesn't mean they're not done. It just means they sent one. It doesn't really mean anything at all. And it doesn't not mean anything, either.<br />
<br />
The thing is, this card, this Christmas card AND the other Christmas card, the one sent to my daughter that included the standard $50 check for her (I already ripped it up), the ones signed LOVE DAD and MOM and LOVE GRANDPA and GRANDMA, these cards sent me into quite the tailspin. My friend, Michael, asked me about the tailspin and I hadn't talked about the card thing yet with anyone and the first thing that came to mind after a good 20 seconds of thinking about it was<br />
<br />
<strong>Let's say you get raped and the rapist comes by your house a year later just to say hi.</strong><br />
<br />
Now off to think about this some more.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-23334640323826854742012-12-23T16:16:00.005+05:002012-12-23T16:16:46.341+05:00Videos of my lovely<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NcxV2RMMjmA">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NcxV2RMMjmA</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7DFBd6WJIs">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7DFBd6WJIs</a>maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-88995064121042496022012-12-20T02:35:00.000+05:002012-12-20T02:41:10.860+05:00The usual Christmas melancholyI seriously doubt I will be getting a Christmas card from my parents this year. I actually don't think I'll ever be hearing from them again. I feel sad about it, but, in a way, it will make my life a lot easier.<br />
<br />
I didn't send my parents a Christmas card for the first time in my life this year. I also didn't send dad a birthday card or a father's day card this year. In fact, I will likely never be sending them another card as long as I live. I will never be phoning them again, either. I feel sad about it, but, in a way, it will make my life a lot easier.<br />
<br />
The only thing that could make me forgive my dad for his final transgression would be if he called me up (or showed up at my doorstep!) in tears, apologising for all the horrible things he has said to me over the years and all the good words and deeds that never came to be. He would have to weep and beg for forgiveness and promise that everything will be different. He would have to do so many things, things he's probably never done in his life. He's certainly not going to be doing them for me, folks. Of that, I am sure.<br />
<br />
So what will be, will be.<br />
<br />
I guess it's good that Elliot has only ever talked to them on the phone once and probably doesn't even remember the conversation. The only photo she has ever seen of them is the group shot at my wedding. To her, they are basically nonexistent. And it's not like they've ever sent her any gifts to know them by beyond a $50 check twice a year.<br />
<br />
They don't appear to be treating my brother much better, either. Two weeks after Thanksgiving, they still had not contacted him about getting together for Thanksgiving. Two weeks after Thanksgiving, it was my dad's birthday, so my brother called them again to wish him a happy birthday and see if he could go by their house to give him a card. During this phone conversation (he should be grateful they at least answer the phone for him!) he made a point of asking if they got the message he left about Thanksgiving. Apparently, dad just kind of blew him off by not mentioning the message or why they didn't call him back. With just a "Um, we didn't end up doing anything that day" the conversation was over. <br />
<br />
Brian says he doesn't see this knocking back as disrespectful. When I told grandma about the whole thing, she laughed and said it sounds like they're trying to send my brother a message by not contacting him after he left the message. I don't really ever see the humour in it, and, every time I hear of them acting not altogether nicely towards him, I am angered anew.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-14962362288221051562012-12-19T15:37:00.002+05:002013-01-13T20:07:45.105+05:00Letter #4(<strong>Note:</strong> These letters are in no particular order. I have lost most of the envelopes, and there's no date on the individual letters)<br />
<br />
Wednesday<br />
<br />
Dear Julie,<br />
<br />
Hi honey. Thanks for the note...yes I have been waiting - not actually sitting, doing nothing, hoping and praying...but nonetheless thinking of and looking forward to hearing from you.<br />
<br />
Sorry I unnerved you about your "passion". Sometimes I get carried away with my sporadic enthusiasm for writing and am momentarily empassioned myself. Don't let it scare you.<br />
<br />
No, I don't have an e-mail addresss as I am not on line...so phone or mail are all the tools I have to communicate with.<br />
<br />
Tommy and I split up and he is once again ensconced in the safety of his NP Richey inherited home. Such a relief. Guess I'm not the marryin' type girl. With longevity, men bore me. Better on my own so must concentrate on staying in that mode and not let emotions sway me.<br />
<br />
Erics car burned - engine caught on fire and my poor little chevy at 140,000 miles is a tired wreck...but I still want to come and see you. As soon as I get a reliable method of travel I will let you know and ok a weekend with you. Am going to borrow a car, if possible.<br />
<br />
So, you're writing has impressed brass. That's wonderful...if it's what you want. Send me a copy of your latest, if you'd care to. I AM interested.<br />
<br />
Helped Brian and Cindy move. The bigger stuff anyway - then was given a tour of the new house. Very nice - and roomy. Lots of light and storage space. AND the necessary garage. That will keep carburetors out of the kitchen.<br />
<br />
Went back to work, our of necessity (that's the only reason I'd go). Sales and office administrative crap for a furniture repair company. It's a study in inefficiency. Oh well - if it doesn't work there's something that will. I shant panic yet.<br />
<br />
Eric and Sheri are ok. Both working and hanging in with the relationship. It's work at times...as it is with all relationships. (I've a crude attitude about coupling...eh?) Sheri is going to college and Eric hoping to - as soon as he has a set of wheels under him again. (After the freedom of being able to roll at will, it's hard on him being housebound and dependent on others for transportation.)<br />
<br />
Is Dallas/Ft. Worth still a plan? If so, do you know when you're leaving? You seemed rather ho-hum in your letter about it all. Enthusiasm shriveling? Maybe a little hesitation about the effort of re-establishing? It's a mammoth maneuver...unsettling too - but probably worth the energy expended. Let me know.<br />
<br />
Even though I don't miss Tommy, my life seems drifty and purposeless now. I'm sure the feeling will pass when the experience has a chance to age and life fills with new and bizarre adventures. This is just momentary down-time. Not pleasant - or unpleasant either. Just different.<br />
<br />
Oh, re: the Tennessee Clutch. Tandy went back up there a couple weekends later and saw Grandma, who knew nothing of my interest in her eldest, Talmage. She sent some plants back with Tandy for me and told her to be sure to tell me, "This plant is from Talmages grave." It was eerie yet fascinating. Maybe intuitively she knew of my interest in him.<br />
<br />
Mom is coming to Clearwater soon. Will be here a few months...at Lisas house. She is going to have a knee operation and could not possibly care for herself at home. No one there but her and some scattered neighbors and friends. Guess we'll all look after her 'til she heals.<br />
<br />
Julie, I miss you. Need to see you. Seems like I'm writing in a fog.<br />
<br />
I love you,<br />
<br />
Janine<br />
<br />
Hi to Garreth!!maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-48171753289126153372012-12-19T15:19:00.003+05:002023-06-03T19:42:19.207+05:00He's all business<div class="maincontent">
This article was printed in the St. Petersburg Times in 2005 when my dad's bank was first opening:</div>
<h1 class="maincontent">
Opening and operating a new bank can be like working with your family.</h1>
That's the message from xxx, founder, president and chief
executive of xxx, which began business April 4. The bank's
executives and all 18 employees were handpicked, xxx said. All are former
business associates and employees.<br />
<br />
"My role as president and chief executive officer obviously is to direct the
activities and create, if you will, our culture, our philosophy on how we do
business," xxx said. "It's pretty simple in community banking - be the best
at providing personal service to your customer. That's what a community bank is
all about."<br />
<br />
xxx has its business offices in a temporary facility at xxx and its banking facility nearly 20 blocks away at xxx. A new
8,800-square-foot facility is under construction at xxx, scheduled
for completion in May, xxx said. Plans call for another office building at
xxx, with an opening projected in August.<br />
<br />
"Typically, community banks are getting their business from larger banks," he
said. "Typically, our business comes from people who are dissatisfied with
bigger banks. It's rare we get customers from another community bank."<br />
<br />
A native of Clearwater, xxx graduated from xxx in
1966. He served four years in the Air Force, from 1968 to 1972, and later earned
an associate's degree from St. Petersburg Junior College in 1978. After that,
xxx studied business at the University of South Florida.<br />
<br />
He also started his banking career in 1978 as a management trainee with xxx. After five years, xxx left xxx to join xxx, then returned to xxx in 1989. He joined xxx
in 1991 as senior vice president and senior leader and left xxx as
president, chief executive and member of the board of directors in 2002.<br />
<br />
For the next 21/2 years, xxx honored a noncompete provision and planned
his own community bank, he said.<br />
<br />
Why banking? "I just like the financial management and the financial aspects
of the business," xxx said. "I was always interested in accounting and (in)
business. I like to form relationships," he said. "My personality was not one to
sit in a cubicle and crunch numbers.<br />
<br />
"Every day, we're getting new customers (and) I know most of the customers,"
he added. "I give my direct line to everybody. I talk to everyone. I answer my
own phone. People can literally pick up the phone and talk to a live
person."<br />
<br />
xxx has been involved with the Pinellas County Education Foundation, a
program for low-income students in Pinellas County. He said he has been
mentoring the same student, now in the ninth grade, for the past six years.<br />
<br />
xxx, 56, and his wife, xxx, live in Seminole. They have three adult
children.<br />
<br />
In his spare time, xxx said he likes to play golf. He and his wife also
like to travel, he said, usually taking at least two cruises a year.<br />
<br />
------------------------------------<br />
<br />
I think it's interesting to note that my dad said he's all about forming relationships, yet he's never seemed to want any kind of warm or genuine reciprocated relationship with his own children. I also think it's interesting that he said he gave his direct number to everyone and that any old customer could pick up the phone and call him, yet I try to call him for months and he won't answer the phone or call me back. Sad, too, that he doesn't mind "mentoring" this poor black kid (quality and frequency of said mentoring not fully established) but he refuses to be a father or grandfather for me or Elliot. Funny, too, that the most mention we get is one line about him having three adult children. I guess his "community service" work rated higher.<br />
<br />
It's most interesting of all to note that he was fired from this, his own, company just a few years later and has been retired ever since. The details surrounding this firing are completely unclear, and dad is only offering a story that makes no sense whatsoever. My counsellor asked me once how I felt about my dad being fired from his own company, one that he had spent years planning and organising and bringing to life. My answer? I said I was happy to know that, at least sometimes, bad things do happen to bad people.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-35128520257516184532012-12-13T00:57:00.000+05:002012-12-13T00:57:34.473+05:00Road Dog WarriorsI graduated from junior college, went away to FSU, came back home for a summer, and graduated from university before I wrote to Janine. It had been at least 3 years of no contact. <br />
<br />
During this time, I was busy, of course, but I don't remember ever particularly thinking about her or longing for contact with her. I don't remember wondering if she was thinking about me, if she was sad that we didn't have any kind of relationship, if she was regretting that she had desserted me when I was a baby only to come back into my life and effectively dessert me all over again. I don't know why I decided to write to her after I graduated. I don't know why she kept promising to come up to Tallahassee to see me, only a five-hour drive, only to never come. I moved to NYC and then on to Oregon and back to Florida before seeing her again one Christmas toward the age of 30.<br />
<br />
During this long interval, we wrote to each other only a few times. I don't even think I gave her a forwarding address in NYC or Oregon or wrote to her at all when I was living outside of Florida. Seems odd that I could just disappear for years and not give one thought about any of it. Sound familiar? I thought it did!<br />
<br />
To be fairer to myself, only when I left Florida did my anger towards my dad and stepmom really surface, an anger that took over a big chunk of my life that was otherwise filled with work, a boyfriend, the daily stress of living in big cities, and what seems like constant moves from place to place. <br />
<br />
During that Christmas visit and the one visit after that but before the car accident that would eventually lead to her death, Janine wasn't working much and was obsessed, instead, with hanging out with Clearwater's elite band of homeless rogues. For a couple of years at least, she was working on writing a book she later titled "Road Dog Warriors," a book about their lives that never got published. During this time, too, she was dating one of said warriors, a much younger man with a penchant for drugs, alcohol, and violence and who thought nothing of stealing her money to buy drugs and cheating on her with anyone and everyone else who ever came along. <br />
<br />
The only things I remember about her boyfriend were that he was terribly beat up looking and looked aged beyond his years. He had a broken arm from some recent altercation and was missing most of his teeth, probably from a combination of drug use and poor hygeine. During that visit, he was badgering me to dance with him, and, when I told him no, he told Janine to make me dance with him. I remember taking an almost instant and intense dislike to him. I remember not wanting to ever be around him again and was glad when he finally fucked off for greener pastures, though Janine would continue to have on again/off again relations with him whenever he needed some money or a place to stay.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-90610108306623303752012-12-10T13:38:00.000+05:002012-12-10T13:38:25.934+05:00Letter #3Wednesday<br />
<br />
Dearest Julie,<br />
<br />
Hi sweetie. Haven't heard form you in a while so thought I'd drop a line and see if you're OK.<br />
<br />
I just talked to you on the phone yet still feel a need to communicate with you further. God you've grown...surpassed the old emotional bullshit with Karen and are now in a workable relationship with her. What a hurdle. And your Dad...he doesn't mean to hurt you (it's not in him) - he loves you but perhaps for a time longer you have to be - to him - the little girl who became a rebel and revolted against the world he has worked so hard to be part of, a rebel against the mindlessness of societies bumblers, a rebel against the blind followers of societies mores, a rebel that had to be pulled out of a rough space...but then went on to conquer. When you come into your own, though, are steadfast about your own convictions, and proud enough to possess quiet dignity about who you are and what you stand for...he will have to accept you as an adult. You don't have to fight who he is, what he does or feels...you just have to be convicted without apology. Who you are is exactly enough and exactly right...for you...and my dear, who do you have to live with all your life BESIDES you. You're accomplished, educated, pretty, intelligent, and so worthwhile. You feel deeply for that which is important. You're almost willing to fight for your right to be all you are...but quietly and with dignity. Those who shout loudest don't always win.<br />
<br />
I really enjoyed our conversation. You're so bright and love to delve into that which most people aren't capable of even talking about. It's such a pleasure to talk about that which isn't the day to day grubbles of work, the house, kids, price of groceries, or the dead squirrel that got bit by 770 volts as he crossed a high wire and got tossed by thoughtless gods into the path of a runaway semi. The rain, the malls, the cost of cabbage, or the new tombstones that bear a hologram of the "dearly departeds" face and a micro chip of their voice implanted in the stone itself so the family can still "communicate" with their loved one. The bullshit. You're real - feeling - and talk on that level. No games...makes life easier...and harder too. (God, does anything make any sense?) Guess there are few absolutes - and then only in math. All the rest is just winging it...maybe landing in a pile of crap (maybe not) and just keep on keepin' on until you find your niche.<br />
<br />
I love you Julie and I'm extremely proud of you and the uphill battle you're fought to be who you are.<br />
<br />
I will be up to see you soon...in the next month or two. Thank you for allowing me that BUT if you change your mind please don't hesitate to let me know. I won't push anything you don't want. You CAN be honest with me.<br />
<br />
Hi to Garreth. My love to you.<br />
<br />
Janinemaarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-45389653443976304262012-12-05T04:31:00.001+05:002012-12-05T04:42:35.741+05:00Letter #2 (which should be titled "Letter #1" or "I never did get that Christmas gift")My Dearest Julie -<br />
<br />
I am so glad you wrote. I wanted to but knew you were angry about Erics "party" and the outcome and I guess I didn't want to risk rejection from you.<br />
<br />
Everytime I've talked to Brian he let me know what you're doing. Told me you were writing and that you had a nice guy that was good to you, as you deserve.<br />
<br />
Sounds like you dove into the world of journalism and are doing well with it. Could it be any other way? You're talented! I still have some of your poems, have read them to friends, and gotten favorable response.<br />
<br />
Seattle - that's a long way from home. Go for it! See and do all you can! Take those risks! I know you'll succeed. I really wish I had known myself as well as you do, at your age. I just drifted and never finished my education - more regrets. But...I have revised the book and only need to write the closing chapter. Then I'll send it to a company outside Orlando, whom I have already spoken with...and will see what happens. It means all the world to me to see it in print.<br />
<br />
Have started another book of short stories. A twisted humerous view of life in a dysfunctional family. Also am planning to write another..."My Name is Day" about a friend of mine who has had a really temptous life. Many twists and turns. That's a year away though.<br />
<br />
Eric has settled down finally. Since I've seen you, Eric has spent most of those years in Par Treatment Center...both in Bradenton and Clearwater. He now has 1 year sobriety...today. He has a nice girlfriend, Sherri, and a decent job. Seems fairly happy but who really knows.<br />
<br />
I'm not working at present...except for my writing. Done some more freelance for St. Pete Times. I'll enclose my last one. God...don't know how I ever had time to work :) .<br />
<br />
Eric, Sherri, Tommy, and I live in an old house. I love it. Windows everywhere. There's a jungle-like back yard filled with plants. (I'm in a plant obcessive phase now.) It's so nice to sit out there in the evening with a cool breeze fanning your face. Occasionally will even have a visit from a possum or coon. The house is right off Court Street by St. Cecelias school and directly across from Chi Chi Rodriguez's golf course.<br />
<br />
Mom was just here from Montana. Stayed a week. If you two are planning to drive to Seattle stop in Big Sky and stay with her. The area is gorgeous...as her back yard is Yellowstone Natl. Park. She'd love to have you. If you're interested just let me know and I'll set it up.<br />
<br />
Julie, I DO love you. I'm not too good at showing it, but I think of you every single day. Wonder how you're doing, what's going on in your life...and if we'd ever communicate again. I miss you.<br />
<br />
If you and Garreth have the time - come home. Maybe spend time together...before you go off onto your new life. My daughter - the famous journalist - world traveler. God...the wondrous opportunities in front of you. You will accomplish all this...I know that in my heart. You're intelligent AND talented. AND I'd love to meet Garreth!!<br />
<br />
Julie - I've made a mountain of mistakes in my lifetime...and I still make them. I want you to know that the two happiest times in my life were 1. when you and Brian came back into my life 2. and when Eric came home to live. My children whose absence caused the most pain and whose return gave the most joy!! Baby, I do love you...please don't doubt that. You're in the heart of this old crone. I do apologize for hurt I've caused you. I only hope you will keep in touch and that I will see you again.<br />
<br />
Thank you for your letter!<br />
<br />
My love - <br />
<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
P.S. Did you get your Christmas gift?<br />
PPS Phone # is 447-6183<br />
<br />
xxx<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-23525374142321132922012-12-04T01:37:00.001+05:002012-12-05T04:25:22.030+05:00Life with drama on wheelsNot long after I graduated from high school, I knew I had to move out of my parents' house. I had been working part-time as a cashier at Publix - a Florida grocery chain - since the day I turned 16, but I didn't have any money saved. The only cheap or free place I could think of to go was to Janine. <br />
<br />
One day a few months after I graduated, still without plans for college or any interest in plans from my parents, I called her up and asked her if I could come stay with her until I got on my feet. She said she'd have to get dad's permission first, which angered me. I was an adult, and I wanted to escape from dad. I most certainly didn't want someone asking his permission for me to.<br />
<br />
I moved out of the house anyway, but I didn't move in with Janine. Instead, I was homeless for three weeks, living with a friend in her car in parking lots at Indian Rocks Beach. I didn't really mind being homeless - even sleeping in the car wasn't so bad. The only things I didn't like were life without a shower in the Florida heat and wearing a dirty uniform to work every day. <br />
<br />
Three weeks into homelessness, my friend and I had saved money, and we moved into a one-room holiday rental with two double beds and a stove and refrigerator. We paid $70 a week each - a hefty price in 1990 for one room. We lived across a walkway from the owners, and we were under their very watchful eyes. They laid down strict rules of conduct for us that included "no male visitors." After we broke more than a few rules, we were tossed out and rented a slightly bigger studio apartment just down the road. After we broke more than a few rules there (I've never SEEN so many cockroaches in one place), we were tossed out yet again. <br />
<br />
Lucky for me, I had reconnected with abusive first boyfriend by then (insert sarcasm here), so I moved in with him. My friend moved back home to go to college. After boyfriend dumped me, I moved back home for a short time, then back out and into the <a href="http://maarmie.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/a-place-of-my-own.html">converted front porch</a>. I was there about a year then moved in with a workmate and his sister. He and I moved to a few different places, and his girlfriend moved in with us when we rented a really nice two bedroom off Gulf-to-Bay in Clearwater. She quickly got pregnant, and they decided to break the lease and move in with her mother. So I was stuck with nowhere to live and only months before I was going to leave for Florida State University. I turned to Janine again.<br />
<br />
This time, she let me come and stay with her and my half brother, Eric, then 18. I was to share Janine's bedroom and bed and pay a third of the rent and bills.<br />
<br />
Things seemed OK after I moved in, but I could tell Janine was a bit depressed. I was busy with work and college, so I wasn't aware of the major downward spiral. Either that, or it came on quite quickly, but, three weeks after I moved in, Janine decided to go check herself into the nearest mental hospital for a nice weekend of rest and relaxation. The day after she left, her son thought it would be nifty to have a major street party and invite the neighbourhood juvenile delinquents over for some very public alcohol and violence. I came home from college as the party was just gearing up and headed straight to Janine's bedroom to watch TV. Not long after, Eric and his buddies ran in the house and headed straight for Eric's room. Cue the police pounding on the doors and windows and yelling for Eric to open the door. <br />
<br />
Knowing that Eric was cultivating some very tasty pot on the roof, I told him to answer the door but not to let the police in the house. I stayed in the bedroom while Eric opened the front door. Of course, the police just barged their way into the house, permission or not, and started screaming at all the boys to sit down and shut the fuck up.<br />
<br />
I stayed in the bedroom for about 10 minutes deciding whether or not to go out there. The party had nothing to do with me, and I didn't want to get involved. But I figured the cops would likely be searching the house soon, so I figured it was best to show myself. The second I stepped out into the living room, the cops were screaming at me to sit down and grilling me for my age and accusing me of contributing to the delinquency of minors and threatening to take me to jail. My scumbag half brother just sat there and let me take it and would've likely let me go to jail had Janine's sister not phoned at that precise moment. I answered the phone crying, and she wanted to know what was wrong. She didn't even know that Janine had left, and she came right over to get me.<br />
<br />
Saved.<br />
<br />
I stayed with my aunt for a week or less before I moved into the hotel at which I had been working. I lived at the hotel until I went away to FSU. Finally, I got to just work and concentrate on my studies. No bullshit. It was heaven.<br />
<br />
Not long after I moved into the hotel, Janine, who had not contacted me since she came home to find me gone, cruised by the hotel to try and squeeze some money out of me for the bills. Considering I had paid a third of a month's rent to stay in her house for three weeks and considering I almost got arrested during that time because of her dickhead son, I basically told her to fuck off. <br />
<br />
I didn't have contact with her again for a very long time.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-79278951815762416072012-11-30T01:56:00.001+05:002012-11-30T01:56:34.528+05:00Letter #1 Midnight<br />
<br />
Dearest Julie,<br />
<br />
I've been thinking about you all day, missing you. Things are weird and I'm alright. Everything is crumbling and somehow there is this quiet assurance that everything will turn out for the best. Guess I'm used to the crumbling, or the eventuality of it, and everything always does turn for the better.<br />
<br />
Opted to take a class this semester at J.C., creative writing. Excited about it too. Hope to take a class or two each semester and maybe by the time I'm retirement age I'll have an AA in something less mundane than it already is. New avenues, different doors to walk through, new people to experience, new minds to share with.<br />
<br />
Went to Tennessee with my friend Tandy and camped with her ex's family. Kentucky and Tennessee country people - some with the ageless wisdom found in the hills and others with a Bubba mentality. Spent the entire weekend taking notes and came up with a brief descriptive narrative. I'll send a copy along. Julie, Talmage captured my interest...and my heart. Strangely enough, Tandy went back up again last weekend and Grandma sent back some little plants from her garden for me. She also told Tandy to tell me that the pothos cuttings were from Talmages grave. I didn't even discuss Talmage with her but think somehow she became aware of my fascination (compassion, empathy, feelings) for her first born. Grandma is something special. She possesses such clarity and wisdom of human nature - and acceptance thereof.<br />
<br />
Eric suffered a small catastrophe - his car caught on fire. The fire department had to put it out, it was that bad. He's freaking now. His freedom went down the tubes. But...he has a great attitude otherwise and is grateful for what he does have. His actualization of the desire to go to school is quite a bit further off now but maybe he needs this time to grow so he can accept the responsibilities of college. All I know is that everything DOES happen for a reason and that reason will be revealed somewhere down the road.<br />
<br />
As for me - I've learned that I'm not a master at relationships - never was and that I'll spare some poor boob, that may happen to be attracted, a great deal of pain - by travelling alone. I'm happier that way in the long run 'cause I don't compromise well and do detest putting myself in a vulnerable position with the "enemy" - effectively blocking intimacy. Don't know whether I'm not capable - or just don't want to. Either way, it's best I cruise solo.<br />
<br />
Are you even interested in all this? <br />
<br />
I'm just cruising along in my little brain warp, typing my feelings to you and I don't even know if there's any interest. But somehow I know if anyone understands me, it's you.<br />
<br />
Guess I am forced to leave the life of "do as I want when I wish" and get a job. Doesn't really matter or cut into my writing time. Inspiration usually ignites about midnight. My brain is semi-comatose all day but the wee hours activate that convoluted blob. With the job of cleaning 301 (my AA building) and a part time thing, I'll be OK and still have time to wander. God Julie, I'll probably be a bag lady when I grow up.<br />
<br />
I miss your letters, articles, and you. Are you OK? Depressed? Happy? Pensive? Is your brilliant mind engaged in anything that brings you joy? Are you and Garreth doing well? Will you share your thoughts with me? You are beautiful and dear, my dear. I love you...and still plan to come see you. Please write.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Janine<br />
<br />
maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-3418698286813634202012-11-28T16:31:00.001+05:002012-11-28T23:50:05.102+05:00Another storyWhen I was six months old, my biomom, Janine, sort-of tried to kill my brother and me and herself before dropping us off at her mother's house and checking herself into the nearest mental hospital. As she told the story, her father had recently died and she was still suffering post partum with me when dad told her that he was interested in some other woman. Knowing her default mental state to begin with, I'm sure she was more than a bit off kilter at the time and pushed over the edge with all these simultaneous difficulties and traumas. So, one day, she was driving down the street with us kids in the car when she decided it would be a good idea to close her eyes, keep driving, and see what happens.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure how long she kept up this closed-eye driving (couldn't have been long, I imagine) but the rest is history. She came to her senses and left, and we moved from Austin, Texas, to Florida when dad got out of the military. Janine says dad, at some point, attempted reconciliation. But Janine was having none of it. She was off doing god knows what and just wanted to breeze in to see Brian (and me, I guess) whenever it suited her. Brian says that he remembers always getting very upset when Janine breezed out again, and, after a while of this, dad put his foot down and said no more. If it wasn't going to be regular, it wasn't fair. Good on him.<br />
<br />
So, Janine disappeared from our lives both physically and in every other way imaginable. I don't know how kids know these things, but they seem to know what they can talk about with their parents and family members and what they can't. Maybe this "knowing" comes from before they have conscious memories. Maybe when I was 4, or something, I tried to talk about mom or ask about mom and was resoundly rebuked. Maybe my conscious self doesn't remember this but some part of me does and that's why I knew not to bring her up. It was never outright stated, but we all just knew that dad hated mom. Mom was this shadowy, messed up figure who was not to be spoken of. I knew absolutely nothing about her, not even what she looked like, until I found a wedding photograph at my grandma's house. I just sat and stared at the smiling blonde stranger in that photo for ages, wondering who she was, why she had left, where she had gone, what she was doing. But I didn't dwell on it for long. That's just the way things were.<br />
<br />
When I was 16, she called out of the blue on Thanksgiving Day. Dad, stepmom, and I had just gotten back from wherever we were (Brooksville with grandma?) and the phone rang. I answered it and was stunned to hear, "Julie. It's me, Janine." <br />
<br />
My eyes must have gone wide as saucers and all I could think of to do was ask her to hold on, lay down the receiver, and run to find my parents. They were just standing there near their bedroom looking all posed and awkward, so I'm guessing she had cleared this whole enounter with dad beforehand. Would have been nice, I think, to not have sprung it on me like this. But when was anything ever done appropriately or sensitively in our house?<br />
<br />
So I went back to the phone after dad seemed at a loss over how to behave or what to say, and Janine and I awkwardly chatted for a few minutes and set up a time to meet. <br />
<br />
I'm not sure how many times we met up initially. Quite a few, I think. I don't really remember what we talked about, but I remember having wildly mixed emotions and being really confused about the situation. I know now that I had a lot of anger towards her and that a lot of internal sadness was involved in being around her. She was pleasant and open and willing to talk about anything, but that was certainly nothing I was used to. I wish I had made better use of her willingness to share and her incredible candor and honesty than I did, but I didn't really know how to have conversations then, and I wasn't really aware of my feelings or how to relate to people in general. <br />
<br />
The contact was sporadic after awhile, but it was obvious that I was very much like her from the start. She liked to write. I like to write. She loved to read. I love to read. She was an open book. I am an open book. She wore her heart on her sleeve. I wear my heart on my sleeve. She was very emotional. I am very emotional. She valued honesty and truth and justice and creativity and kindness and beauty and wisdom. I value honesty and truth and justice and creativity and kindness and beauty and wisdom. She loved theatre and art and nature and science and animals and poetry and music. I love theatre and art and nature and science and animals and poetry and music. She was sensitive. I am sensitive. She had a twisted sense of humour. I have a twisted sense of humour. She liked to thumb her nose at authority. I like to thumb my nose at authority. She was drawn to interesting and varied people. I am drawn to interesting and varied people. She was accepting and open and tolerant. I am accepting and open and tolerant. We were the same height, had the same hair colouring, were the same size, and, on the index fingers of all our four hands, the fingernails curve slightly inward at the end. <br />
<br />
Suddenly, I didn't feel like such a weirdo in this life anymore, like I had been adopted or mistakenly dropped out of nowhere, an aberration. There, standing in front of me, in the flesh. This was where I had come from.<br />
<br />
(to be continued)maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-57139812434669967052012-11-25T23:46:00.003+05:002012-11-26T01:48:54.261+05:00Excuse me while I bite your fucking head offExcuse me if I'm in a bit of a shit mood right now, but I used up all the hot water for Elliot's bath and now I can't have a shower, and Elliot has spent the last 20 minutes having a fucking tantrum at my feet because I wouldn't help her pick up and put away the pieces from a small puzzle she was working on.<br />
<br />
Her tantrums really get to me. I mean really, really. So much so that I feel like pushing her down or smacking her face or locking her out of the house. Instead, I usually move from room to room in a misguided attempt to temporarily rid myself of her. I say "misguided" because all she does is move from room to room with me. None of the doors have locks on them. Except the bathroom door. And I locked myself in. And she went back downstairs to sob alone. Only I felt guilty that she was crying. That she was alone and crying. And I knew she needed a wee. So I went back downstairs and gave her a hug and chaperoned her back upstairs so she could do a wee. Yes, you read that right. Chaperone. You see, Elliot is afraid to be in any room in the house by herself. If I'm in the kitchen, she's in the kitchen. If I'm in the lounge, she's in the lounge. If I'm upstairs in the toilet, she's upstairs in the toilet. If I move on to my bedroom, she either follows me there or commands loudly that I remain in the toilet until she is finished taking a dump.<br />
<br />
Now that I'm more than a bit miffed, I'm going to rant on about a couple of things that really piss me off. One: When I invite someone to do something by text and never hear back from them. Two: When people speak to their children in that high, whiny, singsong voice that leads one to believe that either the child or the parent has some sort of major learning difficulty. You know the one. Oh, Timmy! You are such a good boy! Yes you are! Such a good boy! You need a poo poo? You do? You need a poo poo? Are you going to do a poo poo on the potty? On the potty? Yes, you are! You ARE going to do a poo poo on the potty. Not in your pants. NO! Doing poo poos in your pants is for babies! And you're a big boy, aren't you? Yes. Yes, you are. Such a big, big, big, big boy!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
All done in this super loud, super high-pitched voice, all of the syllables dragged out to the nth degree while looking around the room to see who is witnessing their super-attentive parenting that will undoubtedly only garner them the award of most super fabulously annoying parent of the decade.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-7972509331838756232012-11-25T14:51:00.000+05:002012-11-30T23:03:18.649+05:00Ungrateful bastardAbout two years ago, I wrote my dad a letter asking him to pay off my student loan. C* had been gone for awhile by that time, and my American bank account was almost empty. At the time, I still owed just over $5,000, and I knew that getting that debt out of the way would make my life much easier and give me one less of a multitude of things to worry about.<br />
<br />
Considering the long and illustrious careers of my dad and his wife, $5,000 would have been nothing to them. I'm sure they wouldn't have even missed it. In fact, I bet they could afford to buy me a car or put a down payment on a house for me - two things that would greatly increase the quality of life for me and for Elliot - without much effort or sacrifice.<br />
<br />
I wrote a letter because I was too chickenshit to ask on the phone. I got a letter back a few weeks later telling me that, since they are retired, they won't be giving me any money. They didn't even offer to pay off some of it. In the letter, which was short and stiffly worded and could have been written to a complete stranger, my dad wrote that noone ever helped him and that I could do it on my own. He also said that he knows I can have a good life and that I need to take it one step at a time. Um...ok. Thanks for all the great advice and general motivational platitudes.<br />
<br />
Putting aside that dad has yet to give me any useful advice on being a single parent (I asked him once who looked after me and brother when we were very young and he replied "You were in daycare, I guess"), I take great exception to the statement that noone ever helped him. That is so not true, and it offends me to the core that he would write this. I know he thinks women are silly and stupid, but it just so happens that he would've been up an even bigger creek in his life had a whole army of women not stepped in to help him. <br />
<br />
First, his mother - my grandma. A woman who always acted as a surrogate mother to me and who let him live in her house rent-free with his children, stepchildren, and wife number 3 and who took my brother and me for nearly the entirety of the three-month summer holidays until we were old enough to stay on our own. She is the only one I can remember from childhood who actually took an interest in me and seemed to actually enjoy planning outings and activities for us and spending time with and talking to us. She has a lot of faults, but I love my grandmother dearly. If he doesn't see and appreciate how much she helped him then he's blinder and more ignorant than I thought.<br />
<br />
Second, my biomom's sister(s). My biomom has two sisters, and, after biomom left, I was told by my brother that at least one of the sisters stepped forward to watch us. My brother told me that when the time came for her to stop watching us, she felt like her own children were going away. That's how close she was to us at the time.<br />
<br />
Third, his various wives. Dad has been married four times, in total, and, from what I hear, wives number 2 and 3 were pretty much psycho. I don't know if they did more harm than good, but I know they at least worked and presumably contributed to the family finances. Wife number 4 has been around since I was 7 and, while she caused mostly only headaches where interpersonal relations with the kids were concerned, she earned a decent salary as a bank manager and contributed well to overall family finances. Considering the supposition that money seems to be the only thing dad cares about, you would think he would consider this as someone helping him along the way. I mean, even my stepmother herself snarled at me one day that I wouldn't have a roof over my head or food in my mouth if it weren't for her. Though she was a nasty bitch for even saying it, she may have been right.<br />
<br />
Fourth, my brother. My brother is 3 years and 8 months older than me. He was 4 when biomom left, and, after that time, he remembers changing my diapers and generally taking care of me. Grandma told me that Brian probably took more care of me than dad did. I asked her where dad was during all this time, and she said says she didn't know but that she stepped in so much not for my dad's sake but for the sake of us kids. I know my dad was working like a beast and going to college at night at the same time - a move that paid off very handsomely for him in the long run. Plus, it must take a lot of effort to meet, woo, marry, and divorce several different women in a short amount of time. He proved that he could work hard and dedicate himself to things that would presumably improve his financial and personal circumstances. My question is why he never put as much effort into being a loving and devoted father to us kids.<br />
<br />
Lastly, he should be thanking my brother and me for being relatively hassle free and for looking after ourselves so much of the time without burning the house down. I swear, we were on our own so often that we could have gotten up to way more shit than we did. We got up to some hijinks, to be sure, but, all things considered, we were pretty good (that he knows of).<br />
<br />
So, in conclusion, my dad had help from everyone under the sun when it came to being a single father. That he either doesn't remember this or doesn't value it enough to NOT say that he never had help from anyone speaks volumes in support of the person I know him to be.<br />
<br />
To avoid being an ungrateful bastard myself, I want to express gratitude to C* for being a loving and devoted father to Elliot. Every week, he faithfully has Elliot two nights and pays child support. Without these things, my life would be much harder than it is, and Elliot would be much worse off for not having a father. I also want to express gratitude to all the wonderful women who have looked after my daughter so well while I'm at work and to my friend, Jane, who has helped me out in a pinch. Last, but not least, I owe the Scottish government a lot for the benefits I get which allow me to have a decent quality of life while working part time as a single parent. Without all this help, Elliot and I would surely not have a roof over our heads or food in our mouths.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-34558814490363026122012-11-24T01:24:00.001+05:002012-11-30T23:08:58.824+05:00Happy Thanksgiving?I didn't really do much for Thanksgiving this year. Last year, I did the whole turkey, mashed potato, cornbread thing with a few added British extras like roasted carrots and potatoes and Yorkshire puddings. The menu this year included baked salmon and rice. Not exciting, but nice, nonetheless.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow, Elliot and I are going to <a href="http://www.simpsonsgardencentre.co.uk/">Simpson's Garden Centre</a> to meet a few other fellow Americans for lunch as a belated Thanksgiving event. Santa Claus is touching down in a helicopter around half 10, so I said we'd be there around 11 or half past. <br />
<br />
What? Doesn't Elliot want to see Santa arrive in his chopper? No. I already told her Santa doesn't exist. Doesn't exist, you say? But, of course he does! He's the physical embodiment of charity and giving and blah, blah, blah. Hm. Don't think so.<br />
<br />
I don't know why everyone protects the "existence" of Santa Claus as if it were some kind of worldwide imperative and why people get so upset to hear that a parent has told her child that Santa doesn't exist. It's not like I told her that monsters hide under her bed and are waiting for her to go to sleep so they can rip out her throat and play volleyball with her still-beating heart. Oh, wait. I did that, too. My bad!<br />
<br />
I'm a shitty mum.<br />
<br />
I'm horrible.<br />
<br />
No...really.<br />
<br />
Seriously, people are so protective of the Santa lie. The only thing I can think of is they feel horribly guilty for propagating the bullshit all the while trampling over the dignity of their children and taking advantage of their children's trust. They never bothered to figure out that this is, in fact, what they are doing by admonishing their children to believe in fictional characters in the first place. I swear to Christ, some people are just so used to parenting in a sheeplike fashion, no thought at all put into it. Well, MY parents did it and THEIR parents did it and my UNCLES did it to their kids, they say, so I do it to mine!<br />
<br />
Fine. You go ahead and lie to them and rape and pillage their trust. It's up to you what you do with and to your kid. I'm not telling you not to. But the way I see it, you made the mistake. Get over it. I didn't. Get over that, too. I haven't derided you for your decision (until now), so leave me the fuck alone about mine.<br />
<br />
In other news, as of 4:30 pm eastern standard time yesterday, the parents still hadn't bothered returning my brother's phone call from the day before asking if they were doing anything with grandma for Thanksgiving. In recent years, the parents and brother and sister-in-law would make the annual pilgrimage to Cracker Barrel, grandma's favourite restaurant, for some good Turkey Day fun. Brian wanted to know if they were doing it again this year. My parents didn't call back Wednesday. And, upon checking all his various phones in the time between visiting in-laws and visiting biomom's side of the family, he found that they had not phoned him back yet as of 4:30 on Thanksgiving Day. I'm wondering if they ever ended up contacting him at all.<br />
<br />
<strong>Update:</strong> As of 5 p.m. on Nov. 29, the parents still have not called my brother back about getting together on Thanksgiving. This is all the more rude and insulting considering that my brother went to their house a few weeks ago and helped them set up some sort of GPS system. I think it's really fucking disgusting that they continue calling him to help them with all sorts of technical problems (mobile phone, computer, GPS) and they don't treat him with much dignity or respect beyond that. And when he does finally talk to them, it seems like stepmom blames HIM for their lack of communication. They really are warped in every possible way. I hope they aren't surprised if he decides not to take care of them in their old age. But he probably will - no matter how they treat him. He's the good son. And that's what good sons do.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-43153647808885209142012-11-22T02:04:00.000+05:002012-11-23T14:12:07.283+05:00DeconstructionAt counsellor number one this morning (yes, I have two!), I was talking about my parents (what's new?) and my blog, blah, blah, blah. I haven't seen this counsellor in a couple of months, so I was giving him a general update on my mood, what's going on in my life, my thoughts, and things that are currently bothering me or are on my mind. <br />
<br />
We started talking specifically about my father and about the relationship we've had (or haven't had) since I moved out of the house and how it has changed (and not changed) since I was a child and after I grew up, moved out, moved on, got married, and had a child of my own.<br />
<br />
It comes as no surprise that my father and I haven't had that great of a relationship in a very, very long time, if ever. When I was a child, dad was a god to me. The sun rose and set on him, and he could do no wrong. So it follows that when there are nasty things he's saying and doing or nice things that go unsaid or undone, it is all how it should be. It's the right way. It's just how things are done. It's what I deserve.<br />
<br />
Then I grew beyond his view of things and started to have my own ideas. I started thinking that maybe he wasn't right. That the way he did things - things he said and things he didn't say or didn't do - wasn't necessarily the right way, just the way things were done in OUR family. That maybe he wasn't the great guy I had once thought. I started sometimes registering my upset at his hurtful words, at his inability to be there for either my brother or I in any meaningful way, and he couldn't deal. Instead of just sitting there and taking his barbed words like I did when I was a child or in my teens and twenties, I started sometimes objecting to his behaviour. Every time I did that, he would just tell me he was never talking to me again, and then he would hang up on me. Time went on and on with us sometimes speaking (briefly and superficially) but mostly not.<br />
<br />
The last overtly hurtful thing my dad said to me was right after I told him I was pregnant and getting married. Right after I told him, he asked if I was going to register at the Salvation Army thrift shop and proceeded to snigger and guffaw at his hilariously snarky comment as only he can do. I'm not sure exactly what he meant by that, but it smacked of him thinking I'm some kind of scumbag. In any event, I didn't (and don't) see it as a very appropriate or thoughtful thing to say when your only daughter announces she's getting married. But I didn't say anything about it at the time. Like when I was a child, a deep sense of something close to shame washed over me. I felt like a child again, hurt and confused. Wanting love and acceptance but getting kicked in the teeth. I just sat there and let him be him that day but retaliated later by completely ignoring both of them at the wedding. And I mean completely. I didn't even want them there.<br />
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Since then, dad has either been eerily uncommunicative or has had only brief and superficial conversations with me. I can't be sure why as he would never tell me, so I can only suppose that maybe he realises he always (and I mean always) says the exact wrong thing to me and he's trying to avoid any strife. Maybe he doesn't feel free to talk to me like I'm an idiot anymore so he doesn't want to talk to me at all. Maybe he feels like he's been caught out now that I have a child and potentially understand what real love is between a parent and a child. That I understand and can fully see now how parents who love their child should be. Maybe he realises or fears that I now see how his own feelings toward me have always been so deficient and stunted and ringed with disdain. Maybe he is once and for all truly afraid or remorseful or ashamed? Maybe he can't bear these feelings so he responds by not responding?<br />
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Or maybe he just doesn't give a flying fuck and has finally convinced himself somehow that I never was worth any of it from the beginning, after all, and that losing me (and his granddaughter) is no real loss, anyway.<br />
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Maybe it's a combination of all or some of the above. But one thing is for sure: I will never, ever know for certain.maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11014765.post-26919186646152655132012-11-15T14:34:00.003+05:002012-11-15T14:34:29.665+05:00More dreamsI dreamt last night that I was being fired from a job from which I was actually fired, a public relations agency in Tallahassee, all over again - a dream I have on a periodic basis. In the dreams, I am ultimately rehired and then sit there for the rest of the dream in a panic worried and wondering if I've got what it takes to keep working there and not just be fired all over again - and again - and again - and again. I'm so tired of this dream. One: it feels so real every time I dream it. Two: The actual firing from this place was over-the-top traumatic and resulted in therapy, antidepressants, and a PTSD diagnosis. For anyone who has never had PTSD, I don't recommend it. It's not fun.<br />
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The other night, I dreamt that C* and I were breaking up all over again, this just on the eve of me turning in my application for legal aid that will cover the cost of our divorce. I'm just wanting this whole mess to be over, for me and C* to finally be once and for all completely over. Like most other things in my life, marriage was one complete and utter disappointment, a mistake I am most unlikely to ever repeat. <br />
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I can confidently say that I have absolutely no plans of future marriage or of even ever being in a romantic relationship again. I have come to realise that I'm just not cut out for it, and my expectations are just really, really out of this stratosphere these days. Considering these expectations and going on past experience, I don't see myself ever liking someone else enough to want them around ALL THE TIME - hogging the remote, expecting me to clean up their messes, taking time and attention away from my daughter, demanding that I put up with their shoddy treatment. It's just not in me anymore. I simply don't have the energy.<br />
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That said, my life will be simpler but perhaps more lonely and certainly filled with considerable financial strains and hardships. Ah, well. What's a girl to do?maarmiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07208449053550101175noreply@blogger.com0