Forever Tainted

I almost threw up last night… After work we did this:



Or at least that’s the ride we started at. By the time we were done at the fair, we had been vibrated, spun and thrown around so much both of us were on the verge of vomiting. I’d given my bubbles (that we brought along from home just for the sake of blowing off the top of the ferris-wheel) to a little girl who loved them, and Lars gave away our last ride ticket to a young man who looked like he just wasn’t done yet! We ended the evening with a Greek salad, great steak (like seriously, one of the best steaks I’ve ever had), lasagne (none for me as the crappy carb food I’ve been eating lately is making me feel yucky and cranky) and escargots, before heading home and cuddling up to sleep.

We were both plagued with disturbing dreams last night. His included me traveling to Snow Lake with him and then leaving him for a cop that pulled him over for speeding. Mine was bad, but a little more sinister and I don’t care to think about it, let alone repeat the details. Suffice it to say I was glad to wake up in his arms this morning where all was right in the world. We had our first coffee’s in bed where we cuddled up and read the OMG book for a few giggles before work.

I adore that my life is suddenly so full of giggles. Even-more-so that I’m giggling with someone I love so very much.

Someone to cry to…

Last night I had this overwhelming sense of loss for my mother. For the first time in the 9 months since she’s been gone, I’ve had someone to cry to…

I pulled out the memorial book I’d created for all who attended her memorial, and went through page after page of photographs of her smiling face, taken all over the world. The pictures of my mom holding a koala, sitting on an elephants trunk, petting a dolphin and deer, or swimming, laughing, playing with my son… they were followed by last words from those who loved her from near and far. The words perfectly painted what an amazing woman my mother was and what a tragic loss her death has brought not only to myself, but all of humanity. She was a great woman in many ways.

So I curled up last night I the arms of the man I know I lived my whole life to meet, and I cried. I cried about the loss, I cried about the years of pain and suffering she had to endure before she finally passed. I cried about all the fighting I’d done and how poorly I’d failed, the system failed, at saving my mother’s life. I cried because my mother will never get to meet this amazing man nor his amazing family and she will never meet the children he and I are bound to have.

And it was nice to have someone to cry to – after all these months of being alone that way. It was nice to have someone whom I know loves me to hold me, and kiss away my tears. It was nice to have someone understand my pain, and feel it with me, though he was never blessed with even a second of my mother’s time. It was nice to be loved when I couldn’t have possibly been feeling worse.

Shortly after that we curled up into bed and watch South Park until we slept.

Someone to laugh with…



Before my emotional breakdown yesterday, it was a bit of a nit-picky day – mostly because I’m PMSing and we’ve spent so much time cuddling in bed this week, I’ve ignored all other chores like cleaning the house and spending time at the gym. But by evening, as usual we had a blast. We climbed the mountain across from my house, with bubble swords in hand (to leave little a fantasy behind of course) and hiked through the trails. We found that a few kilometres away, there are sightseeing spots. We aim to make a day trip, picnic and all, of finding them soon. But last night it was almost dusk when we started. Even the photos we were able to take longed for the light!


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They say that every man grows up to marry his own mother. It’s no surprise then, that both his mama and I were once obsessed with ALF. For me in fact, it was a little more than an obsession. I remember my mom shooing everyone away from the TV every evening at 7:30pm, because it was my time to watch my program. I remember my ALF doll, that’s long since been lost… And now, those fond memories are strongly tied with her in her death. Last week while we were in Vancouver, his mother, Jacquie gave me her ALF doll – one that Lars had given her more than 20 years ago. At the time she gifted it to me, she had no idea how precious such a gift could possibly be to me. She said she just felt like it was time for her to pass it on, and she felt that I was the right person to give it to. It almost brought me to tears – as I’m sure you can see in the photos in that previous entry. If ever it was meant to be…

Also not surprising then, is the fact that she’s a bookkeeper. And sitting on my desk is the bookkeeping course I’ve yet to complete – and perhaps never will, but that’s beside the point. If ever it was meant to be…

Last week while we were in Vancouver waiting for the waitress to bring our dinner, I opened one of my favourite books, by one of my favourite authors and read a passage to him. Last night while I worked, he spoke to his mother on the phone and mentioned the book to her. She has the same book. When I got off work, I’d found she’d left me the very same quote on my Facebook wall. My baby then found, this:



If ever it was meant to be…

I feel as if I am complete. Everything in my life is finally falling into place… exactly where it should be. And I even got some amazing news this morning regarding my mother’s estate. It seems the most precious item my mother willed to me, is as safe as it possibly could be for the time being… Just like it was meant to be.

Yesterday’s sad-slump would have lasted me a week, if it weren’t for love. Instead, when I was finished with work, I curled up on the couch in my man’s lap and we watched the Canucks kick ass. We had a few drinks. I had a long hot shower before I made an awesome tuna casserole (which was only fair, since in the 48 hours before he’d made me blueberry pancakes from scratch, quesadilla’s from scratch and warmed chicken and wild rice soup, not to mention the countless cups of coffee he’d refilled while I was working), and we cuddled up watching the world’s most romantic movie, Natural Born Killers.

This morning we woke early so I could fill in a few extra hours at work for an employee lost. We ate a big breakfast, and then we went back to bed to cuddle. We slumbered off until I had to work again. I love waking up to his arms still wrapped around me and told him how I adored how cuddly he was. He assures me, he hasn’t always been this way. I believe him, as I don’t know that I’ve ever been this way myself. It’s funny how much like chameleons we humans are. We don’t really know ourselves until we know ourselves in the presence of others.

We are not just who we see ourselves as… But we are a combination of who see ourselves as, and who other’s see us as.

I’ve long since believed that. And with him, he is my Prince and I his Princess and we were made to reach our fullest potential together. I guess when the pieces fit, that's just the way it's meant to feel.

I feel about a billion times better today than I did yesterday.

I feel a lot like crap today.

Wish I wasn't working.

I just want to curl back into bed with my Lars.

Don't want to brush my teeth, or hair, or nothing.

I just want to be cuddled back to sleep until today is over.

I'm wearing my mommy's pink 'Feline Friends' shirt. Sometime in the middle of the night last night, or early morning this morning, I wiggled out of my baby's arms, crawled over him, pulled it out and put it on.

I'd almost have rather woken up naked. And I hate waking up naked. I don't want to take it off though.

It's Mommy's Day. I feel a lot like crap today...

"You know what's a good food? Avocados. They fucking rule. Fucking avocados. I'm so there if it's gonna be avocados, I'm there. If I can have that with avocado, I'm gonna order it with avocado. That's my way. I'm like, yes to avocado. Yes. Yes, yes.



You know what else I like? Pillows. Pillows are really great. Like if I'm lying in bed, and my head is on a pillow, I'm like, okay. Pillows are fucking awesome. If I believed in God, I would say, "Thank you, God, for pillows and avocados. Those are a couple of really good things."



And kittens. They are so fucking cute. I fucking love sweet little kittens playing with string, or giving a little "mew mew mew," or when they are sleeping. So fucking great.



And babies. They are cute too. Not as cute as kittens. But pretty cute.



I must be in a pretty good mood right now to be able to think of four things that make me happy without fucking it up with something that sucks, because I know, of course, that there are a lot of things that suck right now, but right now, in this moment, I'm thinking only about good things.



Like cake. They make vegan cake, which is great because I don't eat animal products anymore. They can even make cheesecake out of tofu, and I fucking love cheesecake, even though I don't eat it anymore. It's not actually as delicious as cheesecake, but it's pretty fucking good, so if I believed in God, I would also put in thanks for cake, babies, and kittens.



Oh yeah, and skullfucking. I really like that too."



The best weekend ever...

There are little secrets… the ones we don’t even let pass our lips, though we know they exist. Those are the secrets we are ashamed of; like wanting to see a love die with deluded hopes that they’ll now understand what we feel, or even worse, with tainted inspiration that we’ll have him back. These are the secrets we cannot embrace, so instead we lie to ourselves hoping the world won’t look too deep inside.

True love though… true love won’t crack that easily. True love uses misunderstandings, frustrations and even anger to learn and grow from. True love already has the tools to construct a perfect love. And today, we are in love deeper and truer than yesterday or the day before – no matter how many others hold hidden secrets are in their darkness.

Lars and I had our first disagreement yesterday. It hurt. I hurt. He hurt. His mom and sister hurt. The only one who seemed to think she may have somehow benefited from it is the evil that should, and now most certainly is his past – for good.

Sometimes, it just takes another perspective to make you see how your actions really do affect others, all others; instilling false hope in some, hurting the ones you love, and confusing if not frustrating others. Sometimes, the decency we are trying to perpetuate is in fact indecent after all – in this case continuing to enable the very co-dependent situation he walked away from and hurting the one he is walking to. Sometimes, the words “It’s not about you,” really need to mean, “it’s not about you” and not just used when you’re being a psycho bitch. And I think we’ve made good on all that.

I woke up this morning to sunshine in my heart and soul, and coincidently out the window as well. It’s a beautiful day for a ferry ride, though we’re not certain as to whether it will be him jumping on it, or me? Doesn’t matter, as we’ll be in each other’s arms by dusk. And that’s exactly where we should be.

I love you. And you love me too.
And we both know it’s forever.

As technology helps the world gets smaller and cultures start to mush together, why isn’t there more cultural give and take taking place? The wrongs with the west are what killed my mother. The wrongs with the west are what have broken so many families, so many people here emotionally and psychologically. And even as our world shrinks and more effective ways of living life are being seen, the wrongs with the west are wrongs the west is blind to. The rights when seen, are even mocked and ridiculed.

I believe in so much that this Canadian culture will never grasp. I hold values so close to my heart that I cannot wavier for even the strongest influence. And yet when I go back to my desert home, the same holds true there.

Will I ever find a place where I belong? Or am I eternally lost?

'You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain
I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?'

You’re fucking poison bitch.
Just die already. Slit your fucking wrists or something.

I talked to my son yesterday. He proudly told me he now has 3 mobile phones, “Two are LG, the other one is Nokia,” he beamed. “Mama likes Nokia best,” I tell him. To which he agrees, so does he. Like mother like son…

It’s unfortunate that since his dad gave away his last cell number, he hasn’t updated me on the new ones. And Ali can’t remember his own – not when they’re being changed all the time. I’d love to once again be able to call him directly, rather than speaking to my ex-in-laws on their house line. The conversations are always so uncomfortable. They’re great with me, I gave them their first grandson, but I’m still the girl who divorced their eldest son.

Ali’s angry with me for not being there, which makes me a little angry with myself. I wish I could be there with him. I wish that country wasn’t so plastic, full of plastic people. I wish it didn’t destroy me as it does. He’s also angry because his father tells him he’s not allowed to come here yet, “How do I get there alone, mama?” He asked me, followed by, “I can’t go all the way to Canada alone! There’s no one to take me.” I promised him the minute his dad said it was ok; I’d jump on a plane and go get him. I will keep that promise, if it costs me my job and everything else on this side of the planet.

You don’t fly to the other side of earth for a day. It’d be a month-long trip at the minimum. And it’d probably give me a chance to clean up some other messes left behind there, like my apartment, my vehicle, etc. All of that feels like a catastrophe waiting to happen these days… It all needs to be dealt with soon. I have too many un-manned assets there. And I can’t seem to get a grip on them from over here.

Anyway, when I got off the phone with him I immediately sent his father an email asking him to reconsider sending Ali out here. This morning he replied to say, “I got both your emails but I am at work. I will reply to them tomorrow.” It’s so like him to avoid uncomfortable confrontation. He doesn’t want to send our son here. He’s terrified that I’ll either keep Ali here, or Ali will choose to stay.

It scares Lars to know I may pick up any minute and leave for the other side of the planet for so long. But he knows I’ll come home to him. It feels a little like our relationship is meant to teach us both some patience in some ways. And it’s all good, because we’re learning together.

Conversations with his sister last night and his mom this morning have left me with a huge smile on my face. It’s a beautiful day. And there are many beautiful possibilities waiting for us all…

1. My bed is warmer with you in it. This saves money on heating bills and my back from sleeping on the couch.
2. You froze the chilli in containers made for two or more. Now when I thaw one to eat it, I end up wasting most of it, because I cannot eat the whole thing. Waste is bad.
3. I cannot drink an entire bottle of vitamin water without you. My fridge is going to be cluttered with half-full bottles. That will drive me insane; you don’t want a crazy girl - we bite.
4. The second towel rack in my bathroom has nothing on it… It just looks bare, unbalanced. The Feng Shui Gods will punish us. Can't have that.
5. I can’t reach the stuff in the cupboard on top of the fridge and though I can’t remember what’s in it, I’m certain I need that stuff right now. NOW!
6. Your Pjs are clean and folded with mine. Seeing them paired up, with other jammies without legs in them makes me sad AND jealous. They are not living to their full potential, but at least they have each other!
7. Snowpus hasn’t had anything black to make white in a while. She’s getting fidgety.
8. My superiority stamp looks like crap when it’s not next to yours. They were made to be together.
9. I can’t reach the arch of my back to wash it properly. That stupid brush doesn’t clean as good as your hands do. I'm dirty without you.
10. I miss you – ‘nuff said.
11. When you’re here, I don’t have time to think enough to write stupid lists. Time is money and less time wasted somehow means more money! Everyone likes more money!
12. It hurts when you’re far – both me and you. Hurting is bad.
13. The door upstairs is squeaky – I can’t reach to put WD40 in it.
14. I miss you. It’s my list, I can say it twice if I want to.
15. I love you. Heart, Mind, and Soul. And the world just doesn’t feel ‘right’ without you. You should come fix my wrongs.

In one of the blog entries I’ve since made private, I mentioned hating feminists. I don’t really hate feminists and I certainly believe in equal rights between men and women. I hate today’s feminist women, who believe in de-pantsing today’s men and turning them into the weaker, meaker sex. Do you know how hard it is to actually find a real man these days because of it? I’ve been blessed to finally find mine…

I hate the feminists that believe being a stay-at-home-mom, who takes care of the children and the household while her husband works to support them financially, is a lesser woman. Don’t get my wrong; this doesn’t include women who can’t really afford, emotionally nor financially, to stay at home. A real woman takes care of what she can when she can and she doesn't expect someone else to do it offering nothing in return. It doesn’t include single welfare mom’s who just keep popping babies expecting my tax dollars to pay their way through life, spending any extra cash they get on frivolous things like booze, toys or tattoos, while their babies don’t even have milk or diapers... Those women are just, well… trash.

I hate the movement that made it impossible for most households to survive on a single income, and forced most homes with children to become double income. I’m an intelligent woman, who can certainly take care of herself. I have a great career. But if I want to dedicate my time to raising my babies, and taking care of my man by making sure he’s fed as best as I possibly can, and that his clothing are just a little cleaner, tidier than his buddies at work, and that he is sexually satisfied, having a woman at home who is more than happy spending an entire day preparing herself to become his sex-kitten at night, rather than slaving away for the dollar while my kids minds rot in daycare and my man wears clothing straight from the dryer, and we all eat food from a box or can, and our sex lives are almost nonexistent because we’re so fucking exhausted from work, then it should be my God-given right and I should be able to do just that. And perhaps most-importantly of all I should be respected for that choice…

But today’s feminists… Many of them anyway, as far as I’m concerned, made that simply impossible. And those are the feminists I hate; the feminists who took away my right to be a woman.

I lied. I don't hate true feminists. Not the ones who are fighting for equal rights. I hate the bitches who sincerely think women should rule the earth and double standards should be applied in favor of women and their sentiments. If a man can smack a man's ass at the office and nothing's said about it... the same man should be able to smack a woman's ass and she shouldn't allow her emotions to get in the way of that, calling it sexual harassment while expecting equal treatment!

For the first time since I can remember I’ve hidden a few blog entries tonight. Sometimes, I wish there was a ‘block’ on these things so I could block certain people from reading certain thoughts of mine.

For a little bit tonight, I let my anger and disgust take over. It reminded me a lot of the me who started blogging, so very long ago… There’s so little left of her it’s like a long lost, almost forgotten part of me coming around again, for an uninvited visit.

I’m allowed to think my evil thoughts about evil people and their evil actions. I’m even allowed to write them down. But I know she reads my blog. And I don’t need to spread such hate. That simply makes me just as evil. No good can come of it and she hates herself enough already – with good reason.

I write for me. And I’ll continue to do so. I think I’ll just have to make better use of private entries in the future… Let her learn her lessons on her own. And I’ll continue to learn mine.

And off you go again. Leaving behind diamonds and an unspoken promise of forever. My whole life has lead up until the moment I met you. And I miss you when you’re gone. I know you’ll be back soon…

Without you, I was able to go to the salon and get my nails done. I promised the girls there, I’d bring you next time. They promised they’d talk you into getting a pedicure. I’m sure you’ll do it. And I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. No polish though – polish would make you a metro man. I like you just… Man.

And what a man you are!

Our midnight mingling, awoken by your lips on my neck, so quickly we melted into one another, followed by this mornings’ tumble, you making everything feel like it’s my first… you make it so hard for me to let you go… even for a short while.

I love you, you know. Come back to me soon.

20 years ago his mother moved in with her current love after knowing him only a month. They are still as madly in love today as they were way back then. She tells me they still giggle. They grew together, changed together. I’m certain that’s one of the reasons she is so for my Lars and I, already. I’m certain it’s one of the reasons she’s already hinting at hopes of him and I having children. I’m certain it’s one of the reasons she believes her son has found his ‘one’, and I have found mine in him.

Besides… I schooled him at chess…

Today is his 1st day at his new job here, on the island. Or rather, today is his interview day. Though there’s no reason at all to think he won’t get the job. He’s strong, he’s dedicated, and he’s a hard worker. We are going to build a future together, step-by-step. We’ll accomplish much together, I’m sure.

In order to build a future, we must first come to terms and make sense of our past. And he has a past – though I certainly spend more time thinking about it than he does. He feels he spent enough time trying to make sense of it without success. He has come to terms with that – while for me; it’s just an anomaly. And anomalies amuse me to no end. They always have and always will.

Life is ever changing and always staying the same. And while she will never thank us for removing her from the cloud that he and I are falling into, we know today we did what was best... for her and for us. She will never realize that today, she cries less for him because she is not able to witness what he and I and all those around us are becoming together. I see it though. Her words no longer surround him. Her thoughts are no longer on me being with him. She is finally allowing herself to move on - if only on the surface of her soul, the subconscious will follow. She can do so because… She is no longer privy to seeing what he gives me so freely and was unable to give her. I sincerely hope she never regrets the permanent symbols she’s married herself to, while screaming about their independence; her subconscious knows all too well, they are tied to him in every way. When she realizes through and through that he has let go, I hope she learns to let go too.

And we are better off as we are no longer made to feel guilt for our love-struck actions and we are free to know they have nothing to do with her. We dance together, scream one another’s names at the top of our lungs and share our love so freely, so openly that those around us are in love with our love & happiness. And there is no one to accuse, we’re doing it out of spite for her. There are no irrational, immature outbursts of veiled hate, or seething jealousy, grotesquely costumed with a broken innocence or pure intentions.

The best told lies are the ones we tell ourselves, and believe. And she sincerely believes she’s pure.

Now… There is only love in our lives.

And he and I can sincerely hope she learns to live with her, moves on and finds in someone else, what we have found in each other.

Check mate…

Waking up without you is like waking up empty.

I should be cautious. If it feels too good to be true, it probably is. Not with you. With you, I can’t imagine it. I can however, see us growing up, growing old, getting married and even making babies one day…

You always have the right thing to say. And when I told you I’d never make that whole marriage mistake again, you told me it would be no mistake. When you told me you loved me and I rejected the use of such a huge word, you told me it was a word you did not use lightly. And I know that’s true – but I do not want to believe... When I asked how you knew your emotions weren’t lying to you, you reminded me of how well you know yourself. And I believe you do.

I don’t know everything there is to know about you, but I know I’m in love with you too. I just refuse to bring those words to my lips, should you hear… it might be the induction of my heart’s demise. I have been deceived by my very own heart before...

Where have you been my entire life? And how is it any one person fits another like a glove and seemingly fits no one else just right? Who tailored us for one another? And why did we have to spend so many years attempting and failing with others? Why did I have to be just this jaded for you to find me and pull all my pieces together? And why is it, you seem to know exactly where everything goes?

It’s just right. It’s all just right. I fell into your mother and your sister like they were family of my own. Such instantaneous love all around. Never before have virtual strangers been able to bring me so close to tears of joy, nor have I shared such whole-hearted laughter. They’re right.

It’s as close to perfection as I could ever hope to be. Except… you live too far away. And I know we’re in the process of changing that. It just feels so soon, so sudden, so rushed… but so very right. And so very much meant to be because… waking up without you is like waking up empty.

Choose to embrace all the pain, the hurt, the ugly, the untrue, and the negative will completely consume you.

Open your eyes and see. Your life is not up to me. Nor him. Nor them over there. It is all, every little bit of it, completely up to you.

If you want to be happy… Be happy. And it really is that simple…

…if you want it to be.

If getting there means crossing boarders and moving miles away from this place and closer to those you love, then go. If staying put is what your heart needs to heal, then do just that. But learn to take control of you. Your very own subconscious is screaming this at you, begging you too. Why do you refuse to listen?

There is not a place, physically, psychologically, nor emotionally too far out of reach for you – if only you knew. Happiness could and would consume you...

...Too.

‘I can’t even hate you. And I honestly, truly want to. I never thought I’d find myself actually welcoming someone into my heart as I do you. I thought I was too broken to even know how to love anymore. The fact that I have no control… I know it’s real. I’m just too scared to admit it.’

‘I think you just did… And I love you for it :]’

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‘I have been on this planet 32 years… I know what I am… who I am… and that no one has ever completed me… Some came close, even made me happy for a time. But… 3 years after I was born, my match was brought into this world… And it took 26 years to grow into each other’s paths. :) I’m glad I found you… Most people don’t get to. :]’

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So quickly you've become my world. So true you make me feel. And no matter how many times you may have uttered similar words in the past, I know by the way you look at me you're telling no lies. I know by the way your hands feel on my skin and in my hair as you whisper words of conviction in my ear, that we're going to grow old together, just as you assure.

So tonight I meet both your mom and sister. I'm armed with banana bread and fridge magnets of their favorite photos that you and I made together. I know I'll love them both, and I'm certain that they will love me. Everything about this feels so right. Finally...

My whole life I've wondered when it's going to be my turn; when God would give me the break I so truly deserve, after sacrificing so much of me for so long to both deserving and those who were not. It finally feels like my turn has come. And I refuse to let that pass without recognition. el7emdullah rab illa alameen. I wish my mama were alive to meet and fall in love with you too. I know she's looking down on us and smiling... And I know she knows, you're going to take care of her little girl.

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'I know we will work out babe. Somethings don't fall into place as easy as others... but all in all, we will be together. :] Hardship makes most things more enjoyable in the end. Things that come easily, usually go easy. Like I said before, I love that I have to cross an ocean for you... For your heart of gold.'

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'Makes me feel honored I have a woman worth that much to me... This early in a relationship, it is a good thing. I know I don't want to leave you now but the time I spend travilling gives me an opportunity to be sure what I am feeling for you. I know there is a lot to learn from and about each other... Can't wait to wake up to your gorgeous green eyes all the time.'

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How do I not fall in love with you?

I like being a toy. People play with toys. People love to play. Love makes people smile. I smile when I make people smile. Toys are good.

Betcha wish you were a toy too, dontcha?

You told me I complete you and though I’ve not uttered the words, you complete me too.



I watch as your relationships broken between blood are now mended, and I smile as I feel you closer to whole. I love that you’ve found peace with your mom and are finding the same with your sister. I love that in so many words you’ve declared your love for me and so have they. I love that your mother confides in me that she doesn’t recall ever seeing you so happy as this confirms what I already know is true. I was meant for you, and you for me. I love that we’re falling in love and there’s nothing the envious can do – though they try at their own demise.



I think I have found forever in you. And I think you know it too.

I wish there was a life leave; we could take while we fall into one another. Someone else would worry about the dishes, the laundry and whether or not the pets were fed. And you and I could just be, alone in our heads – together.

What matters…

I miss you Zorana.

I ran alone tonight. I ran hard. I ran from what I was feeling. I ran to cleanse. I ran until I felt a jinnie (Authu bi Allah min ashaytan ir regime) behind me. I saw his shadow, shorter than myself, running beside me. I gasped. My heart raced, and I started to panic. I spun and ran as hard as I could towards the light. And you flashed in my mind. I saw you seething, not breathing as you growled in my direction. I watched your eyes roll back into your head, before finally your face softened and you whimpered my name. I heard the thunder of his chanting holy words. I saw myself run towards you and heard my husband and the Mullah yell at me simultaneously to leave you crying on my livingroom floor – because it wasn’t really you at all.

And for a moment tonight, I felt foolish as if I didn’t believe my own story. But I know it was true. I know it happened. I saw it with my own eyes. And I know for a moment tonight, I was at risk myself.

I miss you Zorana. I love you terribly and wish you were with me at nights like tonight.

The third, unintentional, unknown to you. And perhaps she is the most precious of all. I asked if the first symbolized death, you laughed in my face and assured me it was not so, “Not this one my dear, not this one at all!” The second rose was a little closer to a lovers dozen. I smiled. You’d given me a symbol for each visit. I miss you already.



The third may be torn between loving and loathing without control, may wish an end instead of a start, and the past to present from time to time. And so much like a younger me, I know this animosity. I’m sorry. It gets better. Time heals… and so many other clichéd things to say run through my mind. But the truth is, I know nothing I could say will take away your pain. And I wouldn’t, not even if I could.

You’re so very strong. You’re so very true. You’re so very raw and so very much you. And there are lessons to be learned about unrequited love, and broken hearts with hands waiting to heal them in your shadows. There is so much more than your eyes let you see, and soon enough someone will see… in you, what he sees in me.

But the lesson I learned (many years beyond your age), was another cliché, that I had to love me. And to love yourself, you need time alone, no man, no lover, no tainted thoughts but your own. Learn about you and how you decide your own fate, learn about love and its vast estate - waiting for you to embrace it if only you knew how. There’s a difference between love and dependency, realizing this… is the major difference between you and me. And this pain you feel, is a tool you cannot yet see, in teaching you true independency.

I wish you true love, and faith and so very much more. But after so many lost years, it’s finally my turn, and I will let this love sore, if that’s how high I’m finally meant to be.

It’s hard to believe I met you less than 24 hours ago.

You gave me butterflies, taking my hand into yours just minutes before our breakfasts were served. It’s been far too long since I’ve felt a fluttering like wings in my tummy. Pulling my hands away, I’ve never felt food so invasive in my life.

You made me feel for a moment like young love, captivated by a crush, lost in the rush of such innocent courting.

For hours we lay together, slumbered in one another’s arms like old friends, new lovers, or somewhere in between. How comfortable I am with you – even if only for a day.

You pulled away too soon. You live too far.

I am…

…not surprised that you took that which you did not pay for. Even your psuedo-intellect is fantastic, why should your morals not be?

From cow to plastic you stole and even my brother, your equal (though you see it not) is not surprised (and you would not neither, if you were he!).

You see not like the rest of us… and may you never see it our way.

As I fear the humiliation of being you would kill you without question.

How much you must hate yourself not to see.

Having never been wrong about anything my entire life, even when telling you what your opinion should be on K9’s and other such things, is finally taking it’s toll on me. Sympathize with me, as stupid mortals cannot comprehend how stupid they are and it’s driving me insane.

I’m right. I’M RIGHT! I AM ALWAYS FUCKING RIGHT! I’ll stomp my feet and twist my words, drag up issues from the past while screaming at you to prove it. I am never wrong.

Nor am I responsible for my own happiness, my own security, even my own toilet.

You are. Or she is. Or even him, over there!

And when you fix what I have broken, I owe you neither apology nor thanks. How absurd you should expect even a note of gratitude from someone of my standing. Mortal humans, so stupid! You are unworthy of my time, will you never learn?

So dumb you are that you’ll never see it my way – it’s almost cute to watch you try. But can you not see the troubles you cause me?

How hard it is to always be right in a world where everyone else is wrong.

I’m about double that age now. Double the age I was when I thought I knew just about everything. And now I can see that I really know nothing at all.

Things change so drastically as we age. Events unfold altering who we are from our very core. I’m fairly certain my life’s events have left me utterly insane. I’m ok with that though.

Trying to pull together the strings of my life and make some rational sense of what’s left in my irrational world, I’ve found myself subject to more stress than I know how to manage. Stress kills – literally. It started with my hands. I was recently diagnosed with Raynaud’s. My immune system is shot and it seems I’m suddenly allergic to some unknown substance – I have welts and rashes.

I’m getting old; so old I can start to complain about random ailments even as I finally start taking real note of my health.

The last few months I’ve found myself a bit of a fitness freak. I’ve replaced smoking with hours in the gym. Generally, I feel and look better than I probably have in years. But I’m falling apart. I know it. I can feel it. Time has taken her grip and is sucking me in. And it feels like it’s taking her no time at all.

About done with humanity…

I’m 28 years old and I think I sincerely hate humanity now. And perhaps that’s my problem and mine alone. I wish I’d just die. There’s no point in life when you see no fucking good. I wish I had died and my mother lived. She’d be far better at cleaning up the after-mess than I am.

I need to write my will.

I feel as though I’ve given my whole self, my whole life to people that do not deserve it – which not only offer nothing in return, but also rape me of myself in the process.

I’m fairly certain my heart is already stone cold. I find it almost impossible to connect with a person romantically. My view of most relationships is a lot like business transactions, whether or not it’s cash in trade. Each and every person is a whore in some way or another. Perhaps the streetwalkers have it right.

Today I learned that a friend I’ve had for more than 15 years is a hypocritical, disloyal, delusional piece of work. I was forced to disown him. If 15 years can and must be thrown away because for 15 years you believed someone was someone they weren’t… I’ll never really know another person nor the evils which all people are capable of.

I fucking hate you. I hate you all. Perhaps not for what you are or have been, but for what you are capable of becoming.

Go fuck yourselves.

Spent a short time in my old blog tonight and remembered how much I loved to write. It’s been so long since I’ve actually taken a pen to paper and had something decent to say. Perhaps the passion is dying. Maybe my soul just isn’t as fiery as it once was. Or perhaps I’m just getting old.

I was a poet once. I was a woman of words. Now, I can hardly find the words to talk coherently.

Maybe I need a cause. Maybe I need a niche. Or maybe… just maybe, I’m just done?

Arena (known to self and others) caring, confident, intelligent, powerful, warm	Blind Spot (known only to others) able, adaptable, bold, brave, cheerful, clever, complex, energetic, friendly, giving, happy, independent, kind, knowledgeable, loving, mature, searching, self-assertive, sensible, sentimental, spontaneous, sympathetic, trustworthy, wise, witty
Façade (known only to self) dependable	Unknown (known to nobody) accepting, calm, dignified, extroverted, helpful, idealistic, ingenious, introverted, logical, modest, nervous, observant, organised, patient, proud, quiet, reflective, relaxed, religious, responsive, self-conscious, shy, silly, tense

All Percentages

able (18%) accepting (0%) adaptable (9%) bold (45%) brave (18%) calm (0%) caring (27%) cheerful (9%) clever (45%) complex (45%) confident (9%) dependable (0%) dignified (0%) energetic (9%) extroverted (0%) friendly (18%) giving (45%) happy (9%) helpful (0%) idealistic (0%) independent (27%) ingenious (0%) intelligent (27%) introverted (0%) kind (18%) knowledgeable (9%) logical (0%) loving (45%) mature (9%) modest (0%) nervous (0%) observant (0%) organised (0%) patient (0%) powerful (9%) proud (0%) quiet (0%) reflective (0%) relaxed (0%) religious (0%) responsive (0%) searching (9%) self-assertive (9%) self-conscious (0%) sensible (9%) sentimental (18%) shy (0%) silly (0%) spontaneous (18%) sympathetic (9%) tense (0%) trustworthy (9%) warm (18%) wise (9%) witty (18%)

It’s amazing how much a person’s death can affect your life – even when you’re expecting that death to come. It’s amazing because death is the only certainty we have in life. We should be ready for it. We never, ever are.

It’s been 2 months now. And it feels almost like my life has been on hold this entire time – despite so much happening and so many changes taking place.

I’ve moved out of Squamish, where Squish Gems originated and was meant to serve. I moved back to the island, the help my father and brother with the after-mess of mom’s passing. Each day, feels like a little emotional roller coaster.

Mom’s death has been a burden on us all financially, but it’s also given us insight and opportunity to what we need to be doing as a family and as individuals. All of us are contemplating the types of business we need to be running. We’ve contemplated from a petting zoo; my dad has the perfect bit of land for it, to a second hand store; they were mom’s passion. We’ve solidified little. But then, we’re taking baby steps. We’re still in shock I guess. And we’re still mourning. We’re still battling for my mother’s rights.

Today, I made a section on my store in mom’s honour. I will donate 15% of all profits to a local charity in her name. I will sell the types of things she liked to buy. And I will remember her, and use her strength to help me m

FOUCHIER, Anne Patricia
July 23rd, 1954 - July 23, 2009
Survived by her mother, step-father, partner, 3 daughters, 1 son, 6 grandchildren, 2 dogs and 5 cats, she will be sorely missed by many. Patricia lived a full life in a short time period, having traveled the world and living more than a decade of her life in Dubai, UAE. She touched the lives of many, taking in, loving and caring for strays, both human and animal her entire adult life. Those who were closest to her watched her health decline, both physically and mentally over the past few years and know that she is no longer suffering. We'll always love and miss her and she will never be forgotten. If you would like information on her memorial, please contact taintedfemale (@) gmail.com. Donations made to any cat or animal society in Pat's honor/name will be much appreciated.

I’m going to send the last entry, the letter to my grandmother, to her house once a week, every week until the bitch dies.

I’m going to fight this as fiercely as my mother would have.

I’m going to insure that my mother’s last wishes are fulfilled, if it bankrupts and/or kills me to do so.

I’m going to make sure my mother is given the respect in her death she deserves.

I’m going to move back to the island at this end of this month and insure that I can be there for court cases, to arrange a proper memorial – after informing all her loved ones of her demise.

And when this is all over, I’m going to survive; somehow, some way.

On the 31st of this month, my whore-cunt-slut-bitch-insult-to-all-women-kind of a sister had my mother’s body cremated without a funeral, without informing anyone, without anyone’s input until my mom’s body was already in the oven. My grandmother, my mother’s mother stood by her side while she did it.

Yesterday, my other grandmother pointed out the obituary my sister and that wicked witch had written.

It’s an insult, another slap in my mother’s face! How much colder, insincere, thoughtless can an obituary be than that?

I will have a proper one, telling the world what my mother was really all about, published as soon as possible.

These people aided in her death, refusing to help her over the past two years. And now that she is gone, they’ve raped her body and murdered her all over again. And they are both her blood... They are her mother and one of her daughters.

There are some things that are to never be forgiven. There are some people that do not deserve to live. There are some things; it’d be worth going to jail for.

But instead, we are taking them to court. We will sue the fuck out of them, and demand that my mother’s Will be followed to the T, despite that cunt stealing the original signed copy, and denying it existed. We will attempt to sue the coroner for releasing my mother’s body to a mentally challenged bitch. We will make my mother’s mother sell her home if she’s stolen an of my mother’s willed belongings.

And I know my mother would have it no other way. Before my mother was sick... she was just. And she’d expect the same from me.

Do you remember the attached letters? Do you remember the other letters, the phone calls other family members made to you, begging you to help us help my mother? Do you remember shooing away the ambulance, just minutes after you watched my mother seizure – denying her medical care when she probably needed it most?

May you never forget, bitch. May you live a long life, knowing that in my opinion and that of many, MANY other people who loved my mother, YOU are responsible for her death through sheer neglect and ignorance! May you grow to be a hundred years old, alone and unloved and with the guilt of knowing you murdered the ONLY good thing that came from you in your entire life. May your heart slowly eat you from the inside out, and when you go may it be the most excruciating, humiliating, disgusting way possible! And may people laugh at your remains!

My mother was a miracle. The fact a person with such morals, such modesty, such love and compassion, and such nobility came out of such a dirty cunt as you, is a fucking miracle. And now that she’s dead you have raped her body, and attempted to steal all her humanly possessions. May you rot in fucking hell you dirty fucking cunt, disgrace of a human being, bitch.

I’d kill you myself, if only I believed you deserved that quick a way out.

My mom was born on July 23rd, 1954. She died on July 23rd, 2009. She was 55 years old.

There's so much I have to say, and too few words to get it all out.

I love you mom.

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.

Dumb people never question whether or not they are happy. Maybe... I should stop asking and just be.

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 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.

What do you think of the new design?

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.

...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...

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.

I just don't. But I'm scared I'm already there.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.