So I ran away... I’m sure I’m not the first and I won’t be the fucking last. No doubt I’m scared. You fucking scare me. It’s amazing how I meet you and I’m about ready to abandon everything I’ve ever known and believed in, just because it feels so god damn right with you. It’s amazing how fucking right it feels...
I’m pissed at myself for feeling so much so soon. I’m pissed at myself for being such a pansy I have to run as quick as I can, as far as I can, as soon as I find an excuse. I’m pissed at myself for fearing your rejection so severely and trying to hard to avoid it, I hurt myself in the meantime just as much if not more.
I’m pissed at you for not caring. I’m pissed as you because I’m not sure that you feel the same. I’m just fucking pissed.
I should have stayed in that unhappy marriage. I may have never been happy... But at least I’d never have to give a thought about being alone... At last I’d never have to question being without you.
No Bad Words in Title!
Dumb people...
Dumb people never question whether or not they are happy. Maybe... I should stop asking and just be.
Why cavemen are extinct & so many other jokes too tell...
But I’m not sure how funny any of them are.
A week or so ago I went camping. While there, I met a boy who was trying hard to make a good first impression on me. In the wee hours of the morning, in the middle of the bush, next to the river, miles from civilization he thought to impress me by showing me his caveman abilities. He tried to pick me up and throw me over his shoulder and carry me off caveman-style, forgetting only that he was too drunk to catch and forcing me right over his back and into the wet sand... face first.
With the smash of my face into the ground, and the bleeding nose that followed we made our way back to the cabin.
I woke the next morning with a bruised face, and torn legs and feet. My biggest concern that my nose was still strait after already breaking in my early teen years. But it seems it was my forehead that hit the ground and not my nose, so as the bruises started to heal I thought myself fine...
...until 3 nights ago.
As I slept I felt a rush of liquid gush out of my nose. When I woke, I thought I must have been dreaming and thought nothing of it until I was getting ready for work and it happened again. I pulled a hair brush through my hair and spontaneously, a gush of clear, water-like fluid spilled out of my left nostril. I didn’t have a cold. I had no known sinus problems. Just this fluid. From work I called the nurses hotline and asked her about my symptom. She suggested I go to the hospital immediately. As stubborn as I am, I finished my shift and went only at 11pm that night. I ended up there, then home, then to the ER again only to return home the following morning at 8am. I’ve been on bed-rest ever since. I’ve been told not to cough, not to sneeze, not to push too hard while going to the bathroom, not to pick up anything heavier than the size of a small dog, not to move too fast or too much.
I have a fractured skull.
I can’t help but laugh at it, and that’s probably only because I feel so fine. I’m handicapped though at the moment, realizing I can’t do laundry myself, or even sweep my floors. The fear is that the longer the break stays broken, the longer the brain is no longer sterile, and the higher the risks of getting an infection, meningitis. The only other symptoms I’ve noticed over the past week are sensitivity to sound, head ache and neck ache. But the aches I’ve suffered regularly in the past as well, so I’m not sure how associated they are. I've been told if there is any noticeable change in them, to contact the Dr. immediately.
This morning however, I actually took a look at my face, and realized there is still bruising between my eyes. It's not too obvious, and looks deep, under the skin. And perhaps my recent depressive mood is a symptom as well.
I have a CAT scan being scheduled, and a neurosurgeon has been contacted. The next few weeks are not going to be fun for me at all. But I laugh, and I joke about how I now have a reason to do stupid things, or what being blond didn't accomplish for my intellect, my subconscious is fighting hard to make happen... I was dropped on my head.
And of course, the reason cavemen no longer exist is obvious... Either their killed their potential mates, or they failed so miserably at impressing them, they never got laid.
I think I'm getting depressed...
I think I’m getting depressed again. All I want to do is eat. When I’m not hungry, I want to eat. When I am hungry, my eyes are bigger than my stomach and I’m eating until I’m full... and then some. I am literally just stuffing my face, on anything and everything all the time; except mornings. I’ve never eaten much when I wake.
I think I’m getting depressed and I think food is an attempt to fill some other emptiness I must be suffering but can’t really figure out what or where it is. The only true bad in my life is being so far from my son, and well... mom’s situation. And I try really hard not to dwell on either. I know my son is doing well and we’ll be together as soon as possible. And I know my mom is about as good as she will ever be.
I think I’m getting depressed but everything else is great. My job is fantastic; I’m well compensated for my time, well respected, and comfortable with the daily challenges. I’m starting my own company, officially getting the government licenses in order, the tax accounts, etc. I’ll introduce that in a later post, because it’s an online company, and it’s not quite ready. I’m surrounded by people who love me, people who make me laugh, people whose company I sincerely enjoy.
I think I’m getting depressed and since I’m not really sure why, and since I’m not hurting myself in any real apparent way, as I have done in the past... I’m not sure how to drag myself out of it.
I read the fine print on television commercials...
I’ve been thinking about death all day long it seems. I vaguely recall a time in my life when I was obsessed with death. I thought about it constantly, perhaps I even longed for it. Today’s thoughts have been a stretch from those of the past. Today, my thoughts are more like morbid curiosity. I want to know how I’m going to die.
I wonder if it’ll be sudden, like a car crash which is probable since I have a heavy foot and a need for speed. I wonder if I’ll be murdered, and this small town I live in will have yet another story to whisper among neighbours about so-and-so’s sister. Or perhaps I’ll grow to be an old woman that knits, and complains about the water until she dies in her sleep. Maybe, I’ll be a victim of myself, and depression will eventually win, and I’ll slit my own wrists or swallow so many pills there is no turning back?
I’m not sure why I want to know. I just know the thoughts have been creeping in the back of my mind all day long. And what’s even more frustrating is I know that I’ll never actually know the answer. When I’m dead, I’m dead. I can’t look back and see how I went out. Until then, even the world’s most renowned psychic would have no certainty. It almost feels unfair.
I know for certain that I will die. In fact it’s the only certainty in my entire life. I just wish I knew how it’s going to happen.
This morning you proved to me...
...You're nothing that you claimed to be and I am every broken little thing I thought myself to be.
But who am I to talk? I'd pick up a broken bottle from the street just to give it one last throw and watch it shatter to a billion pieces, or pick the last petal off a dying flower too...
I hate to hear my mother cry...
Out of all life’s emotional throws, I don’t think anything hurts as deeply or sincerely as the sound of your mother’s tears. This is true, even when those tears are about the silliest, mundane things; when it’s something real, something tear-worthy, it’s a like a dagger in your heart.
Mom called me this morning. My father left for Ontario last week and my brother finally moved out of her house. She’s been all alone for 3 or 4 days now. So I’ve been calling daily with hopes to check in on her. Not once has she answered her phone. This morning she called me back. This morning she was straight.
I have a bit of a cold. My throat is itchy, my muscles feel frozen, and my skin hot. But today is better yesterday, and yesterday was better than the day before. During our conversation my mother talked about her own medical issues, the perpetual need to run to the bathroom. The fact that sometimes she can’t make it and had to move a bucket next to the bed yesterday is what cracked her voice, broke her composure, and brought her to tears, “It’s horrible, “ she quivered. All the while, she was insistent that I go to the doctor because I really don’t sound good. Funny that is, the words I should have been saying to her, she was saying to me first.
The tears stopped and she talked about the frustrations of having a dead battery on her cordless phone, she asked if disconnecting her internet account – because my brother moved out taking the computer with him, would disconnect his account wherever he is at as well. She talked about the bills he left behind and she asked about a solution to her laundry. All in all, she sounded good.
I told her a bit of lighter, happier things that have been happening around here. I had her laughing a little, and smiling a lot, I know. I suggested she come out for a visit, and she responded that she doesn’t want to give the children whatever it is she has. “One doctor said he thought it was Tuberculosis,” she said, “I don’t want to give that to the kids!” No doctor ever made such a suggestion. One doctor did ask if she had ever been diagnosed with TB in past as a history of it would explain some of her vitamin deficiencies. And she hadn’t. In her mind though, his was made up. And TB is what dooms her.
I’d rather listen to hear talk in circles and answer her silly questions than listen to her cry. But even as we ended the conversation she made me promise that if I get worse, I’ll go see a doctor.
You’re Already F*cking Dead...
We’ve had a few conversations. Unlike most conversations I’ve had recently, talking with him is a little different. He’s honest, he’s open, and without intent to harm he speaks bluntly. We’ve talked about perspective. We’ve talked about emotions. We’ve discussed human nature and experiences. We’ve dabbled in dreams and spirituality. Out of everything he’s said to me the words, “You’re already fucking dead,” have resonated truest.
Along with those words he mentioned my sincere wish to be dead. Though, that’s hardly the truth. I sincerely wish I was never born. I don’t want to die. There is a difference. I want to turn back time, but with the knowledge I have of life and be given the choice to be born, or not to be born. I would choose not to be born. And I bet I’m not alone in those thoughts.
If you had the choice and the laws of physics didn’t exist would you do it all again? Are the good times worth the bad, knowing that eventually it’s all going to end anyway? And what about eternity, if it exists after death or not; is life worth the chance of eternity in heaven or hell or even no existence at all?
I believe in God. I believe in Heaven and Hell. I also believe my life has been hell and what I’ve done in my life deserves an eternity in Hell after I die. So if I could do it all again and go back to the nothingness of before my birth, I would choose that.
But if I believed in nothing, if I believed after death it’s just a void like the time before my birth, what the hell is the point of all this wasted time and energy anyway? Why would an intelligent being continually take a bucket of water from one end of the pool and dump it into the other end of the pool trying to change the depth in one way or another? What temporary satisfaction is worth anything at all?
Just what the fuck is the point of it all anyway?
I still want you...
When I was 17 or so, I lost the love of my life. Every relationship I’ve had since then has been compared to what I considered perfect. I did not believe there were two people on the planet more compatible than he and I, and until today I still picture what he and I had as the epitome of true love.
Sure, I’ve loved many people since. It’s just that none of those loves have been as pure, as innocent, as all-consuming as the love he and I shared. We lived in a dream world. And it was a dream world we built together.
It’s been more than 10 years, and a part of me still loves him. I still think about him almost every day.
A few days ago I was talking to a friend here about relationships and love, and naturally A’s name came up. The following day I found myself Googling his name. I didn’t really expect to find anything, so when links popped up and I found him in a photograph taken just a few years back at a work function where he was handing out awards, my heart dropped, my breathing paused and I could do nothing but stare.
His hands were just as beautiful in the photo as they were when they were wrapped around mine. His face hadn’t changed. He was stunning to look at.
For an hour or two my whole world seemed to stop. I had to know what he was doing with himself. I had to know if he had ever married, if he enjoyed his job, how many of his teenage dreams came true, and most importantly I needed to know he was happy. I cried for a bit, as memories rushed through my mind and I thought of how badly I still wanted him.
I picked up the phone and called his office.
The man who I spoke to wasn’t the same carefree, life-filled, optimistic, calm man I’d fallen in love with so many years ago. He was polite and graceful as I knew he always would be. He asked about me and mine and he didn’t try to hang up the phone at the first opportunity I gave him. But the man I spoke to was miserable. He sounded unhappy beyond belief. He was pessimistic. He was broken. 10 years had taken their toll.
So many days have passed. And so many moments I’ve wondered what could have been. Yesterday, I found out. Had I been by his side today, I’d have been just as miserable as he was. Had I gotten what I’ve wanted for years now, I would not be half as happy as I am today.
When we were together, we truly shared one heart. And if I had to feel today what I can feel you’re feeling, I think I’d have to kill myself. I love you. I always have and I always will. But I think you’ve finally given me the closure I needed to know I’m better off without you.
Restless...
I’m getting restless. In the past little while I’ve picked up knitting, fabric printing and a paint brush again. I’ve read an entire book that I found lying around my office during the course of 3 shifts. But even with a new hobby each week, and a new boy in the picture I’m not satisfied. It’s like I’ve always got to be going somewhere or doing something.
Yesterday I drove to Vancouver. For a minute or two in the morning, Squamish just felt too small for me. All I could think while on the way was, ’the US border is just an hour or so that way’. I had my 18-year-old niece with me. Maybe, if I have time for it and this urge to move doesn’t up and leave me, I’ll visit Flur next month. I want to go to Seattle. It’d be a nice change, being the odd Canadian driver on American streets, rather than the odd asshole with Washington plates on our roads, forgetting their high-beams on, blocking traffic, failing to give way, and driving slow in the fast lane of our Canadian highways. Sometimes, it feels like a curse living between the boarder and one of the world’s best ski resorts and usually, that’s when I’m either blocked or blinded by an American driver making their way up to the resorts.
The sun is coming out and the snow is melting. I’m starting to wake up early again, as if all the winter sleeping is done with and life can begin again. I wonder if it’s just the seasonal transition that makes me feel so restless? Maybe I should get a second job?
Shot in the head... Twice
Last night while I dreamt I was shot in the head, twice. It didn’t hurt and as far as know, I didn’t die. I just had a gaping, bloody hole in the back of my head. It’s rare that I dream of being injured, so I thought that was worth mentioning.
At work yesterday, I took a call for the newsroom about a kidnapping of a 5-year-old boy from school that morning. Listening to the child’s aunt talk, I felt my own heart was ripped out of my chest and stomped on a little bit. Thinking of the amounts of ugly I get to listen to in a day, whether it be one drug dealer or another in the US trying to report another drug dealer, or a report of an 11-year-old girl’s rapist’s whereabouts being shared on the Crime Stoppers line because the caller is more interested in getting a reward than actually having the rapist caught, or just your average dick who thinks the women’s crisis line is there for his own personal entertainment and all the support workers are there just to prank call, or the Alcoholics Anonymous line where alcoholics need to find a meeting as soon as possible as they don’t have the personal strength within to stay sober one more minute without group support, I know that my issues are far smaller than so many other’s.
But, my mom’s been given 6 months to live if she doesn’t start taking care of herself. Should she clean herself up, stop drinking and start eating properly, she may have a few years. I don’t see that happening. The last time I saw her, I woke her up in the afternoon. Sleeping by her side was a new toy dog. She paid a thousand dollars for a dog the size of a rat, that’s better off at Paris Hilton’s side than my mom’s. This little thing is just a puppy. It can’t jump off the bed itself to eat or go to bathroom. The results are disturbing. The last time I saw my mom, she was sleeping on a bed that was covered in this dog’s urine and faeces and she didn’t care enough to clean it up or remove the dog. I’d been told that should my brother or father take the dog away to feed it or walk it, she accuses them of stealing it. They do it anyway, out of compassion for the little guy. And while I was there, I mentioned it was cute and all of the sudden my mother was rambling on about how I was fighting with my brother (who wasn’t at home and I hadn’t seen in weeks) about who gets to keep the dog.
My mom was pretty much lethargic. She was talking in circles, and I couldn’t get her out of bed let alone out to lunch. She had growths on the bottom of her feet the size of golf balls, and her mind clearly wasn’t there; every now and then a cheerful “Hi!” leaving her lips mid conversation, as if I had just walked into the room though I had been there close to an hour trying to get her up and out. Eventually, I had to leave as I had a ferry home to catch. It was heartbreaking. Everything that’s happening to her and that she is doing to herself is heartbreaking. And I’m no longer convinced it’s psychosis and alcoholism. I believe most of what she is today is purely alcohol related. She lost a few marbles before she started drinking as much as she does, sure. But what she is today isn’t my mom at all, and the irreparable damage drinking excess of a litre of Gin a day has done to her brain and body is beyond comprehension.
I miss my mom. And I can’t stand to see her this way. But I live my daily life and try to push the sad reality of what’s happening to the back of my head. And still, life is good for me. I have it so much better than so many others. And there’s literally nothing that can happen to me, or that I can do to myself that can change that.
Day 9 – and I smoked a cigarette...
I didn’t need it. I wanted it. I could have come home and gone to bed. Instead, as soon as I was dropped home, I jumped into my car and to the store to buy a pack. I then drove to Whistler, because I live so fucking close and hadn’t bothered to do it yet. From Whistler, I drove back into town, to Shoppers where I bought the lightest, brightest blonde hair dye I could find. I now sit waiting for it to take to my somewhat brown hair. I dyed it dark at the start of winter. It’s still fucking cold, but it’s time to be blonde again.
I met a boy. He confuses me. I confuse me. I don’t need a boy. But I think I may want one. And even worse, I think I may want him. But he’s so wrong for me in so many ways... and so right in so many others. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing with him. But I know next time I see him, I’ll be blonde.
Boys are bad. Girls are worse. And I smoked a cigarette.
Murderer
With every separation
every lover of mine lost
with every aching craving
every unrequited lust
I’ve carried doubts.
This time it is no different
you haunt my heart and mind
creeping out of nowhere
you never fail to remind
I need you.
But like every failed union
every one I’ve left behind
like every other reason
and every other time
you do me wrong.
And like every other swindler
every other con
concealed all true intentions
sang a hypnotizing song
and fooled me.
But now I turn my back
I’m finally able to see
the sadomasochistic binding
between you and me
needs breaking.
With every time I burned you
sizzled your fragile skin
with every intimate moment
I took you deep within
you tried to take my life.
~*~
I quit smoking yesterday. It’s almost amazing how much it feels like losing a lover. It’s the first thing I’ve felt passionate enough about to write poetry in years it seems.
People amuse me...
Catching the latest ferry to the island last night, I found unexpected comedy. Waiting in the line up at the terminal then dark, that in the middle of the day is usually enveloped in some of the most calming and beautiful scenery on earth, I caught glimpse of signboards I’d usually take no note of.
The terminal in the day, last autumn:
~*~
~*~
Driving through clouds so low, seeing the fog wrap it’s mystical fingers around fallen orange, red and green leaves always makes me picture little elves and ferries hiding just out of sight in their log homes. But we’ll save those thoughts for another night. Last night’s eye-catcher was more amusing.
The signboards start off like any other official notice. First there was a flash asking us to park within 24 inches of the cars in front of us, naturally to conserve space on the ferry. Then there was this:
Perfectly normal. The 3rd sign flashed was just plain common sense:
But the last sign we got actually made me giggle:
~*~
Who the hell got to determine the order in which these signs are displayed? And why did I find that amusing enough for me to share? I have a feeling it’s like a ferry crew’s internal joke or something. There’s no way they could have absentmindedly given us a number to call while we’re not supposed to be talking on the phones to find out why we’re not supposed to be talking and driving and boarding a vessel at the same time, could they have?
Anyhow... I made it to the island and finally to Greater Victoria. A friend of mine is going through a bit of a tough time right now, having just broken up with his girlfriend, working 5 jobs and living out of a hotel. So I stopped by his one of his work places just after 1am, that just so happens to be a strip club he bounces at, to give him a hug. I decided while I was there, I should watch at least one show – after 12 years of censorship in the UAE, I’m in a place where being naked is legal!! Yay me! (When I reread this, all I can think is "That's gheeeeey..." Thanks mother-of-six-cats, you've ruined me). Anyway, the show wasn’t half as amusing as I thought it’d be, thus I left midway through the show to Sam’s place.
We spent the night watching German movies, chatting bullshit, and simply catching up. My stay was over way too soon, with me waking up this afternoon and rushing out the door while giggling at elementary insults slung at me on an online forum most-likely blocked in the UAE. I thought everyone knew, Samurai Sam has given me his best shot! And there is no internet warrior on the planet that can scorn worse than that boy was able in his day – unless of course, it was my own metaphorical gun pointed at my own head. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing, or a bad thing but I no longer have the motivation, or even inspiration to let my male ego take over and show a bitch a bitch even when provoked - I'd rather knit; which by the way, happens to be my most recent hobby, and my debut scarf has gotten rave reviews! Anyway, back on topic, whether it's good or bad, it certainly is the case. CG would be so proud of me...
So dinner with my family went smoothly. It took a bit of convincing to get my mom out of the house, and every now and then her even sober statements would stray from any relevant topic. She looked frail and fragile, and a little bit vulnerable and naive. She complained about being cold, talked about having to pack up her dinner for the dog, giggled at little jokes, but mostly stayed quiet. Sometimes, it almost feels like my mom is becoming a child again. Today, as I hugged her goodbye and told her I loved her, she almost started to cry. She almost started to cry as she did when she departed Dubai for Canada, without me. I think my mom herself knows as well as we all know, that she’s near her last breath. I think she can feel the irreparable damage the alcohol, and sheer neglect of her body she’s done. And more importantly, I think she’s come to recognize and is shameful of her actions over the past year, her actions and the consequences of them that have affected the entire family.
She promised she would come visit. And as crazy as she is, so long as she’s not drinking while she’s here, I’m looking forward to it.
I didn’t get a chance to see a few people I’d planned to while I was on the island. And for that reason, I’ll have to go back sometime soon. But I did have a coffee with Rodney on my way out. And I did have an epiphany while having to go pee more than I’d ever had to in my life, only to be postponed from accessing the bathroom for one reason or another until I thought my teeth were literally going to start floating or my tummy would simply bust right open... and I did observe an amusing table of Jordanians while on the ferry ride back. But it’s 2.30am, and the kittens curled up at my side, are a reminder it’s now time for me to go to bed – or I’ll be late for work tomorrow despite all my efforts to insure I’d make it. So we’ll have to save those stories for another day.
For now, I leave you all with this:
When it snows, it DUMPS...
Thursday evening I had to leave my office for the pharmacy because I had what I thought was a tooth ache. It was severe, anyone who knows me knows I don't leave work for anything at all. Anyway, I picked up oragel, and a bunch of serious cleaning crap thinking maybe I was getting a gum infection. When I got home I scrubbed the shit out of my mouth. I woke up the next morning (Friday) hurting even worse with a nasty swelling under my tongue. I called a dentist and made an emergency appointment for that day. When I got there, the dentist had a bunch of x-rays done, counted my teeth, and told me I had perfect teeth. The pain he said could be caused by a damaged or ruptured saliva gland. He gave me antibiotics to take 3 times a day said he'd see me again in 8 days, and sent me home, with nothing for the pain. It cost me $200 - and he didn't even clean my teeth.
I woke up Saturday morning (after taking the stupid antibiotics as he'd prescribed) wishing someone would cut my fucking head off the pain was so bad. My sister took me to Emergency in the hospital. I have a stone (like a kidney stone) in my saliva gland. They gave me a shot of Morphine and examined my mouth. They put me on antibiotics by IV, and had me go back each day at 9am and 9pm to get another dose. In between I was given a stronger antibiotic by pill to take every day at 3pm. For the pain, they gave me T3's (which relieved pain for about 20 minutes) and Oxycontin (which relieved pain for about an hour). My chin swelled up so it looked like I had a fucking Adam's Apple in the wrong spot.
On Monday, I went to Vancouver and saw an oral surgeon, who was meant to cut the fucking thing out of my mouth. He couldn't because it was so inflamed. Instead, he upped the dose of Anitibiotics by IV and sent me back home - and to the hospital twice a day. Finally, on Wednesday the swelling stared going down, the pain started to subside, and they were able to take me off IV, and god damn it feels nice to take a shower without a fucking needle stuck in my arm to get stuck in my hair! I'm on oral antibiotics 4 times a day until it's down far enough to operate or the stone passes on it's own. I still have a swelling under my tongue. And I still have all the pain killers in case I need them. I've also been put on some other drug to help with the inflammation.
All I can say is it fucking hurt. But as if all that isn't bad enough, now that I'm better I had to turn into a masochist it seems. This morning, I managed to fall down my wooden steps ripping the shit out of the entire right side of my body. It doesn't end there, either. While leaving my sisters house and getting into my car, I convinced myself for a moment I would be able to multitask... Surely, I should have been able to open the car door and wave at the neighbor simultaneously -- but hell no... I smashed the left side of my face into the car door. I am one big, HUGE walking fucking bruise it seems.
Oh, and we currently have blizzard conditions of wind chills reaching -20, winds expected to be at 90 km/h, and snow bringing visibility to about zero. And I don't have snow tires on my new car.
When it snows, it really fucking dumps.
Forensic Examinations to Determine Sexual Molestation or Sodomy?
Sodomy Sentence Reduced to Molestation ~*Gulf News
"The convict's lawyer, Ali Al Abbadi, argued: "My client didn't sodomise the schoolboy... the forensic report confirmed that the boy was not sodomised (there were no signs of any intercourse) but the examination showed that there were signs of sexual interaction which occurred due to possible molestation.""
What I want to know is exactly what examinations can determine whether a person has actually been penetrated, or just “molested?” Sounds like a crock of shit to ignorant little me. Any rapist/child-molester deserves capital punishment.
And while I’m on the topic of child abuse, watch this movie (the whole thing available in parts on YouTube). It’s heartbreaking.
It’s getting cold here...
Yesterday, the road report said the temperature was 2 degrees, at noon. I find that hard to believe because the chill of the breeze seemed to slice though my clothing and into my skin. I was almost sure I’d wake up this morning to find a coat of white snow covering everything in sight. The mountains surrounding this little town have been capped in snow for a couple of weeks now. It’s creeping in.
I hate the cold. And it doesn’t help that the sun seems to start setting around 4pm. By 5 you feel as though it’s about 11pm – time for bed; when really, you haven’t even had dinner yet. Winter is depressing for me. The next few months will not be easy.
My house looks like it was hit by a fucking bomb...
It all started on Monday night when my father called to tell me my mom was in the hospital. According to him, she’d been admitted for pneumonia/bronchitis and was detoxing at the same time. It was too late for me to get there, as the ferries stop trips early in the evening. First thing Tuesday morning I called my office to see if I could get the day (or a few days) off to go and visit her. At less than 100lbs (45.45 kgs) my mother is on the verge of vanishing into nothing even without illness. Death was the first thought that came to my mind.
I couldn’t reach my boss, or her daughter. Almost coincidentally, they were both in the hospital as my boss had been suffering severe chest pains that morning. My shift was from 3pm until 11pm on Tuesday and I had no choice but to go in. By the time they got out of the hospital and were accessible, it was too late again for me to take a trip to the island. I did however get the Wednesday and Thursday off, swapping shifts with a colleague of mine. So I went home from work that night thinking I’d get a little sleep and then jump on the first ferry in the morning. But sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, I spent the night tossing and turning, jumping up for a smoke here and there, until 3am when I got in the shower and quickly packed whatever I thought I’d need. I was at my nieces house before 4am, ready to take her to visit her grandma too.
We made it to my mom in the hospital around 10.30am. She was shocked to see us. But for the first time in over a year, she welcomed my presence. She was thankful for the time we’d taken to go out there, she was thankful for the flowers, she was thankful to have someone to play cards with in the hospital. For the first time, she resembled that best friend of mine from so long ago. She hardly had a voice, but was in good spirits. She’d been answering the hospital phones, because the place was so busy there never seemed to be a nurse around. We spent the day with her in the hospital, listened to her talk, walked around with her until her doctor came and told her she could leave. He made me listen to the final lecture before we left though. And that was a lecture that for a moment, seemed to make my mother want to push me away.
It turned out she had gone into the hospital on her own, pissed drunk, asking for help for her alcoholism. The other illnesses had been discovered and treated the week before. She had been chemically detoxed and now, simply had to follow it up by not drinking and attending counselling for both her alcoholism and metal state. As the doctor talked, my mom’s eyes looked either directly at him, like an obedient child agreeing to do whatever he said, or at the ground. She could not look at me. She did not want me to know she had finally admitted to having a problem. I acted oblivious to what the doctor said, hoping to restore my mother’s good mood before leaving. And it seemed to work.
I asked that she attend the meeting he’d set for her the next day and she agreed. When she was discharged, she asked me if I had an extra pair of pants, because she had made a mess of hers. In my car I found I’d only packed the purple flannel kitten print pyjamas I’d stolen from her years ago. She giggled as I gave them back and she dressed herself in them. It was really nice to finally see my mother remotely happy and accepting of at least some of her issues.
We went for dinner with my father and brother. All the while both boys seemed to be pushing her buttons. My niece and I both gave the boys shit for it. Both men have been treated like shit for the last few years, and they have learned to cope by joking, or poking fun at her. Habits die hard. But she had just gotten out of the hospital and she was taking the first step to getting better. It wasn’t the time. And personally, I found it awfully disgusting.
My niece and I left the island and were back in Squamish just after 11pm. I had to run into my office because all hell had broken out during the shift that was supposed to be mine. A little clean up help was needed. When I finally got home, I slept like someone had hit me over the head with a hammer. I was fucking exhausted.
The next morning I woke up and tried to call mom. I got my brother. Mom had taken to the bottle again. And instead of making her appointment she was out running around with my dad. He wasn’t supposed to know about the treatment, by her request so even though it had been whispered to him, he didn’t say a word about it.
I've talked to my mom twice since. She has called me. But she says nothing about the treatment, nothing about the appointments she misses. She simply thanks me for taking the time to be with her while she was in the hospital and talks like all is normal.
There are a lot of other areas of my life that have been moving rapidly, but I haven’t had the chance to clean my house let alone organize my thoughts on it all. All I can say is despite the depressing reality that is my family, life still looks good. The only complaint I really have is how much I miss my son.
When I go nuts... Just shoot me.
I have been incredibly ill pretty much since my last posting here. A lot of funny little things have happened that I haven’t had the energy to write about. In particular, I’m talking about my mom and how strange she really has become.
Now that the mediation is over, and the papers are in the making, she’s acting like it’s a new beginning with my father. She’s friendly with him, has invited him on a trip to Thai Land after Christmas (she’s offering to pay – with money that was once theirs but is now hers), and is convinced that the two of them should start counselling. What makes all this strange is the fact that she’s spent the best part of the last two years insisting that she was leaving him, making his life hell, and fighting to separate all assets so that she has her own little piece. Don’t most couples consider counselling and vacations prior to legal separation of assets? Aren’t lawyers and courts, and mediators the last resort when all is said and done in a relationship? And does my mother have any real recollection of the shit she’s done in the past to her entire family? My father wants to stay on good terms with her, but as of now he still has no intention of getting romantically involved with her again.
My intuition says that they spent 15 years together, and chances are they will get back together soon enough – despite the fact that my mother is not the same woman she once was. My intuition says the habit of being with one another for so long is still under both of their skins and now, since my mother cannot pose any legal threat to my father, at least not once the papers are signed, they could find some sort of comfort in something similar to the norm they once shared.
In the meantime, my grandmother is pissed about the results of the mediation and how my mother ‘short-changed’ herself. And all the while she’s trying to convince my mom that the two of them should take a trip to Las Vegas together – which confirms our suspicions as to why grandma was of no help when my father and I tried to contact her as my mom’s symptoms started appearing a year and a half ago. If anything, that cunt helped convince my mother that she needed to separate from my dad and all her medical, psychological and addictive problems would vanish with him. The selfish bitch has only ever been looking out for herself and what she may get from the legal separation. I don’t believe I’ve ever known someone so evil in my life.
And perhaps the most bizarre of all, is my mother’s mention of Dubai, and my son. She’s mentioned she may buy both her and I tickets to back so we could visit my son. Of course, none of this was ever said to me and I myself am not ready to be in Dubai, and would weary of travelling there (or anywhere for that matter) with my mom. Who the hell knows what kind of problems she could cause? In the past year she has suggested kidnapping my baby and smuggling him out of the country more than once. That’s not something I’m interested in, and not something I would dare risk. And let’s not forget that chances are, my mom couldn’t get back into Dubai if she tried – as she’s got a credit card there she failed to pay. When this is mentioned to her, she insists that she gave me the money to pay it off, which of course is not true. In fact, she took out a bank loan here to pay it off, but I never saw a dollar of that money as she pissed it away with copious amounts of other money, while I continued to make payments on the card while I was in Dubai.
It’s all a big mess. And my words are coming out like little assholes, not one of them wanting to flow well with another. So I best stop writing now, before my fever fully takes over and I lose all thought.
$90,000, a few select DVD’s, 2 Rosewood bookshelves & a promise to ‘consider’ marriage counselling...
...is what it’s costing my father to secure more than 2 million dollars in personal assets and his sanity, with the end of the mediation process which took place earlier today. It’s most likely also going to be what kills my mother.
It’s all almost over. An interim agreement has been signed while the legal papers are now in the process of being drawn up. The process took two lawyers and a mediator, in addition to my parents. My mother’s words were so incoherent that she had the room talking in circles more often than not, stating irrelevant nonsense as facts, such that according to her I am not living happily here in Squamish, but rather I’m living in Delta with some guy. Or that my father didn’t transfer more than $100,000 to my Dubai account for the purchase of my apartment but rather, just $10,000 dollars. All irrelevant details aside, it looks like this may actually be the start to the end. Just a few more weeks and all papers will be signed, and my mother will be 90K richer with no restrictions.
It’s not going to take her long to piss that away. She’ll drink it up, possibly take her mother to Reno or something like that, perhaps buy more crap that she doesn’t need and won’t ever open. My bet is, it will all be gone in a few short months – and that’s only if she doesn’t kill herself with it before she pisses it all away. And that is my worst fear.
It’s all really sad for me. I’m glad to learn it’s finally almost over. I’m glad my father isn’t going to lose anything he actually cares about. I’m mortified at the thought of my mother having such a large amount of money at her whim – we’ve seen how’s she’s reacted to mass amounts of money at her disposal during the last year and a half. It’s also heartbreaking that I know their relationship is beyond repair, and despite the promise to consider marriage counselling, my father has long since moved on now and is seeing someone else. And the damage my mother did to the entire family is beyond reconciliation. Selfishly, I can’t help but wonder if I’m going to lose my father now as when I moved off the island I recognized the fact that I’d already lost my mother to her insanity.
It scares me a little. Ok, it scares me a lot.
I had a great day today. But this news now... now, I’m not feeling so great at all.
It’s getting cold here...
Yesterday, I woke up and left for work as usual. It’s was just past 6am, and for the first time since I got here, I had to idle my car for a good 10 minutes so the ice, not frost but thin layer of ice, would melt off my windshield. It’s getting fucking cold. Soon, everything will be covered in a pristine white blanket of snow. I am not looking forward to it.
I pop into the UAE blogs less frequently these days. The stereotypical bullshit bores me. I can’t help but wonder where the curiosity, flare, even uniqueness of UAE bloggers have gone in general. I guess with the demise of the infamous blogs like Balushi, or Sex & Dubai, the entire community suffered. It’s a pity really, because once upon a time, the UAE blogging scene was entertainment. Or perhaps it’s just me and how much change I’ve been subjected to?
I’m finally learning the value of the dollar, and what it’s like to not really have enough. I’m finally learning that life really is what I make it. Which reminds me, if you have an hour or so, watch this clip and all the subsequent ones (if you haven’t already seen the movie):
This is the first of 12 or so clips on Youtube for the movie, ‘What the bleep do we know’.
My mom is still crazy, my dad is still fighting the battle. I believe right now, my mother is being charged with credit card fraud for using my dad’s credit card without his knowledge. It’s the card company themselves who are pressing the charges and not necessarily my father. In addition to all of that, there is question as to whether or not I’ll be selling my flat in Dubai. The expenses of the separation are far beyond what my father anticipated, and if it comes down to him having to sell off the million dollar house he worked his whole life for and just completed building, or me giving up some studio in Dubai, you can bet your ass I’ll let go of the flat. That may very well mean I’m heading back there sometime soon. It’ll be so good to see my son.
I miss him. I miss him more than words can describe. I want nothing more than to hug and hold him these days. I know he misses me too.
Nostalgic...
Whenever I think I’m starting to miss Dubai, Youtube is all I need:
Home sweet, home:
~*~
I don't know if this says more about Dubai, or the presenter here:
~*~
I should have learned to ski while I was there... Maybe then I'd have reason to drive 30 minutes north of here, and hit the slops!
When life moves you back...
“Skip is MIA,” He says to me on the phone, “Perhaps tomorrow I’ll see him and I’m sure he’ll give you a call.”
Skip is my brother’s father. He’s the man who raised me from the time I was 2, until I turned 12 or 13. He is an alcoholic, and that’s an understatement. If it’s there, Skip is willing to take it, whether it’s a drink, a pill, a needle, or a pipe. In his mid fifties, he’s already had a number of strokes and most recently there was a black, potentially cancerous spot found on his lung. None of it changes him. And under it all, the man has a heart of gold. He spent the majority of my first few months back here, apologizing and asking me for forgiveness for the childhood he allowed me to have. I had forgiven him before he even asked.
So it came as a shock that when the boy Skip initially introduced me to, threw me out so suddenly, Skip took his side over mine; refusing to talk to me. I literally told Skip to fuck right off and swore he wouldn’t hear from me until he was willing to offer an apology. Last week he mentioned me to a few friends. He said he’d tried to call but I’d changed my number, and asked them to have me call him. I tried, three times with no response.
So yesterday I wasn’t shocked to hear he was missing. It’s not abnormal for Skip to go missing for a few days in a row. I was shocked after that call when I spoke to my father and he said he’d seen my mom pissed drunk before noon, sitting outside the house with some guy and a case of beer. The guy he described could have been none other than Skip himself. Looks like my mom’s taking a step back more than 15 years in time. Just when you think things can’t get worse, there seems to be away.
Don’t get me wrong, I love both Skip and my mom. I hate the idea of them getting back together. My mom has been so much better than this for so many years it hurts to see her heading right back there now.
Other than this, life seems to be moving smoothly for me. I got myself a kitten and named him TwoSix. He’s a pain in the ass, but I love him just the same. It’s getting fucking cold here, and it’ll be nice for me to come home after work to warm house with a little one waiting for me. I have a second cat on the way. My niece’s cat had kittens a while back, and I’d already claimed mine when I took in TwoSix from some strange man standing outside the supermarket, threatening to leave him on the streets if I didn’t take him home. Soon, I’ll have a happy little family in my doll house.
May you all have a wonderful Eid.
Down, down, down...
I woke up this morning feeling down. It’s the first time I’ve felt like this since I got here and I’m not really sure what to make of it. I’ve worn myself these last few weeks, in particular, these last few days have been rough. Not only did I start working full 8 hour shifts, but I stupidly pulled an all-nighter on the first of my nights off, with a Breast Cancer Garage Sale Benefit to take part in the following morning. I managed through that, selling my jewellery with a smile on my face; the proceeds of which made up for a large portion of the charitable profits. That evening I had a house guest come and he only left yesterday morning as I was off to work at 6am.
Last night was the first full nights’ sleep I’ve had for about 4 days. I woke up this morning without an alarm, and I sit now with my coffee listening to the children giggle, as they walk by on their way to school. The sun is shining and the air is crisp. I’ve taken my vitamins, and I don’t work until 3pm this afternoon so I have ample time to clean my house and get a few odds and ends done. I have no real reason for feeling as crappy as I do.
My father is planning on coming out here for a visit soon. He and my mother are still in the process of separating, though my mother has once again taken a spin for the worst. She had taken a minimum wage job at some dollar store only to lose it with her first paycheque – with money for alcohol, who wants to go to work? From what I understand her lawyer is on the verge of dropping her since, who the hell can represent a crazy person who is incoherent enough when she’s strait, when she’s perpetually drunk? I’m so tired of the whole situation and I wish it would all just go back to the way it was in Dubai, when my mom was normal and my parents got along brilliantly. It’s heartbreaking really.
I have little other than that to share right now. Perhaps as the day moves on, I’ll start to feel a little better, since really there’s nothing stopping me excepting me.
I was woken last night just after 1am to the sound a train thundering through my yard. The tracks are just a few feet beyond my fence, and every time the train goes by my whole house shakes, like a mini earthquake interrupted only by the sound of the trains whistle blowing. It sucks. My first few nights here the last train on the day seemed to go by at 9.40pm – which totally isn’t a problem. But for two days now they have been creeping up into the wee hours of the morning. The night before last, it was 11.30, and last night quarter past 1. If a train goes by at 3am tonight, I think I’m going to wake up crying.
But seeing how the time of the train is my only real stress around here so far, I really shouldn’t complain. I’ve moved into my own place. It’s a dollhouse. Actually, as the landlord explained, she initially built it for her children as a playhouse but accidently built it too big for that. She then decided to add a bathroom and half kitchen and rent it out. It’s a tiny little cabin with a loft upstairs. It’s perfect for the little girl that I am, and will be even better when I get my python back and keep him as the guard-pet!
Life is treating me real well. I haven’t had a lot of time for the net lately, thus the lack of posts or entertaining stories shared. I would like to wish all a Happy Ramadhan, forgive me for being late.
Beautiful British Colombia
It was just before midnight when I snuck out the front door for a cigarette. Giddily talking on the phone I obliviously sat in the chair just next to the small garden and listened to the pouring rain in the background. “If I get eaten by a bear I’m blaming you,” I told him. If he hadn’t have called, I’d have still been snuggled up in my bed, a cigarette the furthest thing from my mind. To my left I heard rummaging, “There’s a coon, bear or cougar in the neighbour’s garage. I can hear him thumping around the garbage bins in there.” In the pitch of the night, I couldn’t see a thing beyond the car port just 15 feet away. As the thumping and rummaging continued, I stood starting to worry about what unseen creature was so close to me going about his business. Stretching my eyes as far as they could go, I peered into the darkness. After a few moments of silence my nerves got the best of me. I crushed my full cigarette in the garden and stepped back into the door frame of the house, one hand on the door ready to close in a moment’s notice.
Within seconds a black bear appeared from behind a car. “There’s a bear! Oh my god, there’s a bear and it’s the first time I have seen one this close up,” I whispered in a hurried voice into the phone. He must have weighed just 350 or so pounds. He was a little bear, the size I like to think of as a teenager. In his mouth he carried a small sandwich bag. The neighbours must have left the bear lock on their garbage undone. As I stood in the doorway he casually sauntered across our yard, not 6 feet away from me, stopping only next to the tiny tree in the yard to our right. He sat down with his prize and pawed at it for a while. Deciding it wasn’t what he wanted or devouring the contents, he picked himself up and this time walked back to his treasure chest of goods. He made his way back into the black of the garage and disappeared for a moment before the thumping and rummaging started again. Something spooked him, and he dashed out of the black and up behind my parked car, proving how quick he could be if needed.
With a bear that spooked and that close I decided it best to go into the house, closing the door behind me. I made my way to the balcony on the second floor where I watched as another neighbour switched on her balcony light and shot a flashlight through the streets. “He’s in Mike’s yard,” I shouted. Once she spotted him, she let me know and started calling her kitty. I watched the bear make his way back across the streets, and behind a house, certainly on his way to the comforts of his woodsy home.
I wasn’t sure if the boy on the phone believed me. And since he was driving across Canada at the time for work, the phone connection wasn’t all that great. Eventually, while I still gazed at this majestic wildlife in our front yard the phone had disconnected. We didn’t talk to one another until he was a few hours from visiting me here, yesterday.
So last night before dusk we sat on the porch eating, drinking and enjoying the company of a few friends. “Oh my goodness you guys, the bear is back,” Emily pointed to the apple tree in the back yard just 10 feet below us and a few feet away. We closed the balcony gate and watched as an even larger bear then the one I’d seen the night before, perhaps 500 pounds of him, swiped up an apple off the ground and put it in his mouth. He casually made his way across the yard where the real treat was left for him. We’d left a bucket of raked apples meant for the compost next to the green house. All the children in the house watched through a window as the bear sat with the bucket between his legs and feasted on the sugary treats. There was no disbelieving for the boy on the phone now.
Being this close to nature at its finest is one of the blessings of being here in BC. It truly is one of the most beautiful places on the planet. And there’s nowhere else on the planet I’d rather be right now.
Get over it...
Karma is a bitch, I wish I knew what I did to deserve this shit storm... He asked me to leave and I did. When someone else he knows shows interest in me, he says he’s fine by it. When I’m seen in public with that someone else, shit hits the fan and my life becomes a soap-opera again. I’m not even on the fucking island and I’m the center of attention.
My father and mother are separating and it’s certain. She’s been in touch with a lawyer who since got in touch with my father’s lawyer. I’ll end up having to testify and that’s fine. The truth will not work in my mother’s favour but the way I see it, she hates me so much without any reason anyway, what more can the truth cause? With any luck, I’ll at least be able to help my father out. Any financial gain she takes away from this separation will be pissed away on alcohol, lawyers’ fees and whatever random crap she decides to pick up from junk shops along the way. She’s already been selling off her gold and pearls to feed her habits. It disgusts me to know what’s she’s done, what she’s attempting to do, and where it’s all going to lead. I wish I knew how my mother became what she is today, and I dread the day I become the same.
I’ve been here just over a week. I haven’t taken a single anti-depressant pill and I feel fantastic – despite the drab things that seem to be happening in my life. I’m well on my way to finding a job and generally, I’m happy. Let’s hope it stays that way.
And I'm off again...
What the hell goes on in that head? -- Photography again by Sam C.
Most successful people seem to have a story of poverty in their past. Some of the more famous stories always seem to start with something like, “I hitchhiked into town with fifty bucks in my wallet and the clothing on my back...” and they end with, “Today, I’m a content multibillionaire.” Though my childhood was plagued with alcoholism and poverty, I wonder that I’ll never get that chance again. I’ve built and been blessed with too many security blankets and people that seem to love to save me.
Sunday, I leave the island broken-hearted with more than fifty dollars in my wallet and a car that’s insured in my name – with everything I own on the western content packed into the back. But the intent of leaving the island is to truly start over – and this time, with as little outside help as possible. True, my father lent me the money to insure the car (which used to be my mother’s until her license was suspended for being a drunk with epilepsy & other mental conditions). He is also lending me more money to make sure I have enough to start up, to put a down payment on a house and tide me over until I find work. On top of that, I still get rent paid to me from my apartment in Dubai, and alimony as well. And I’m not going to a town I’ve never seen. I’m heading to Squamish, where the one sister who actually has her head on right, lives with her husband and twin children. Perhaps I’ll never be able to start a story like the many famous successful people. But I will be successful & I will find contentment.
Perhaps, I’ll even get to writing that damn book I’ve been thinking about?
What my F*cking Problem Is...
Some anonymous dickhead who got a hard-on for me on another site decided to tell me what my problem was in comments here earlier today. Oh feeble minded anonymous and those like you, please allow me to make it easier for you by pointing out what my fucking problems are, so you can gladly copy & paste them in the future and be at least remotely accurate in your findings.
My biggest problem is myself. I’m a fucking cunt, not only to you but also to me. There is NOTHING you can say to me that I haven’t already told myself. I suffer a number of psychological disorders, I grew up in an alcoholic family, I have been molested more than once. I seek love in the wrong places from the wrong types of men. I cut myself. I snap, and have attempted to commit suicide (and murder) on more than one occasion. I burn way too many bridges and I find it really hard to forgive. I have to take pills to get my pitiful ass out of bed most mornings. I over-analyze just about everything. I don’t trust people, and I don’t trust myself. I make piss-poor decisions. I judge harshly, and I’m even a little racist not to mention bias concerning some things. I’m a little over weight and on the verge of becoming anorexic, my mother lost her mind and thinks I’m the antichrist. My son is on the other side of the planet, and I have made a miserable mess of my whole fucking life.
I never should have been born in the first place. But guess what dickhead, I was. And I’m not going anywhere real quick, and most certainly not because you believe the world would be a better place if it only existed of people as oblivious of themselves as you are. I may be a royal fuck up, but I know myself and I know along with all these ‘problems’ (that many, many more people face without even realizing), I’m also more intelligent than your average twat, more loved than most online trolls, more intuitive, more artistic, more creative, funnier, more accepting, kinder, bolder, stronger, with a broader view of the world, and I have a brilliant future waiting me. I excel in everything I do!
I’m 27 years old and I’m well on my way to fixing my problems, thanks to the fact that I realize they exist. Maybe instead of telling other’s what you think their problems are, you should spend more time asking yourself what the fuck your own problems are and counting your fucking virtues.
