Monday, March 29, 2010
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.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
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?
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?
Saturday, October 17, 2009
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%)
Created by the Interactive Johari Window on 13.11.2009, using data from 11 respondents.
You can make your own Johari Window, or view Tainted Female's full data.
You can make your own Johari Window, or view Tainted Female's full data.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
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
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
Sunday, August 9, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, May 15, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
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 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.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, April 6, 2009
...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...
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...
Saturday, March 28, 2009
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Me
- Tainted Female
- No matter where I am, I'm lost and learning to like it. I'm a living contradiction, and the best lies I tell are the ones I tell myself.
My Blog List
-
"UN Delegation" (Microfiction)3 months ago
-
Hello 2014!11 years ago
-
40 CONSCIOUS years!12 years ago
-
Pink Pudding13 years ago
-
Another year has passed14 years ago
-
allo allo..14 years ago
-
See you in Oz?14 years ago
-
Downtown15 years ago
-
-
-
-
