Concealed Position

|| Power in the Hands of Weak Men ||

2007-07-14T03:12:00.000-05:00

So it's no big secret that "Lovely" and I split up. And it's no big secret that I stopped blogging here b/c I felt that too many people I knew were reading it. And it's no big secret that I have had things I wanted to say for quite awhile - things I was just too kind to say in non-anonymous forum.

Well the big secret is out. And I guess the "Big Man" and his friends feel good and bad all at the same time. Yeah. You found my blog. Congratulations.

I'll tell you the same thing I told my mother. You don't want to know - don't read it. You obviously (you and your very technically savvy friends) did a hell of a lot more than read it. I hope you enjoyed every single lurid detail. I hope you're living it up, and living it over and over again.

Go ahead. Call a lawyer. Sue me for defamation and parading bad moral character out into public.

Just remember this; having a life - such that it is - isn't a felony and isn't a disease, and frankly... it's a hell of a lot more satisfactory than the last few years of living with you.

Cheers.

|| Back About the Book; Calm of Day; Finished! ||

2007-07-08T18:12:00.000-05:00

|| Blogging Out for Awhile ||

2007-06-27T20:12:00.000-05:00

So at the risk of seeming unappreciative to the regular crew who read (27 yesterday, that's nice), I am stepping away from this blog for a bit.

I have set up a new blog and have been attending to it with some regularity. I have a larger story to tell than I can tell here. This blog is - unfortunately - far less anonymous than it needs to be fore me to openly, honestly, and completely express myself. Plus it's just the wrong venue for the very personal, emotional stuff I need to work through.

So... until we meet again. This blog will be quiet again.

Don't worry. I will be back with more political stuff... just not soon.

--Grace

|| New Place. New Echos. ||

2007-06-25T21:15:00.000-05:00

So I am *all but* out of the house from hell. I had to get outta there. It was crawling with bugs, smelled bad and had someone else's bad memories piled up in every spare corner like refuse.

So now I am in a big ass apartment at a very fair rate (apparently summer is better for getting the competitive rates?) with not a stick of furniture, hardly a pot to cook in, and one passable coffee mug. At this moment I am crossed legged on the floor in the middle of the empty living room, the deck door open so I can squat on someone else's wireless (back to that.) Cable - hopefully will be hooked up within the week and I won't have to squat.

This weekend all the neighbors were on their computers. I couldn't sustain a connection long enough to check my mail, much less publish. Woa is me. (I chuckle.)

I'm doing okay.

Much better. Reality is starting to set in. I got a really nasty note from "lovely" today which served to remind me "Why".

At the risk of being a total cunt, I just have to inventory the contents, background and lead up.

I left. With my suitcase and my laptop. I came back a few days later for clothes.

I agreed to sign over my interest (such that it is) in the house. I left our savings and investments (which are not substantial by any means - but neither are they paltry.) I left them with the idea that they would be applied toward Lovely keeping the house - putting money toward it so he could qualify. I have agreed to leave pieces of furniture which are not important, but are family pieces (and yet now belong more to the cats than they do to me or Jeff and so I have no remorse about these "things".)

I have assumed the only debt we had as a couple (aside from the house) which is the car I drive that we both have title to and financial responsibility for. The debt is mine alone.

I have given money this month to help with the unexpectedness of this outcome. It's small - but it hasn't been the most generous month for me financially or emotionally and I confess I have been smoking Basics and driving on fumes and eating crackers and peanut butter.

I left my cats - my "children" - because the house is theirs and my instability of locale and lack of furnishings is inappropriate for them. That, and in totality they are better off where they are and safe. Period.

And I have agreed now, despite leaving all assets of value toward maintaining Lovely's interest in the house, to pay a substantial amount of alimony so that Lovely can continue to live in the style to which he has become accustomed - without having to sell the assets or inconvenience himself in the fucking least....

All of which was fine with me. All of which I volunteered for. I wanted to make this as un-difficult as possible.

And today I learn that everything has been on my terms. That our life together was always an accommodation to me. That I always called the shots and that I am this terrible selfish person who always expected others to bend to me.

Every self-professed honorable man shows his true colors eventually.

In truth, I know - without doubt - that nothing is farther from the truth. I know this and I have heard this before. And before... before I had a month of relative reprieve from the droning, pressing, badgering rhythm of demanding "bend", I didn't have the clear head to see just how far from the truth it is.

Yes. I must be the most selfish cunt in the world. To finally hit my limit. To finally swear off the "bend" in exchange for financially broke. There's only so much bend in any person before they are bent over with crushing weight of guilt and manipulation. I would rather be broke. At least I don't have to hear, day after relentless day, how helpless I am without my caretaker. How I couldn't function without supervision. How untrustworthy my senses are and how "eat up with it" my personality is.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

I am doing well. I am amazingly resilient. I am amazingly calm and together. Knocking out things that have to be taken care of like punching holes in distant targets lined up down range. Steady and slow and sure. Breathing deeply and stopping to think instead of constantly spinning, reacting, trying to anticipate the next anxious judgment that would be cast upon me.

No. No more. I am doing quite well. I have five new books (and one old one) on the floor beside me to read. Literature. Adding to the library and to the gray matter between my ears. I am writing a bit, and sleeping just fine. And peanut butter suits me.

I am doing just fine.

Technorati Tags | separation anger cunt my+way reality mind+fucked |

|| Reality is Starting to Set In ||

2007-06-15T15:47:00.000-05:00

So I've finally had a few days in a row to simply be quiet and think, as well as get some stuff done. I'm finally starting to calm down a bit and get a grasp of the situation. I guess the thing that scares me the most is money. After that, it's isolation, loneliness and the general sense of danger that I feel pervasively since I left "home" in May.

I don't think I've had a real opportunity to "enjoy" the full depth of my aloneness. That said, it sure has been quiet around here. On one hand I am thankful for the peace and few demands on my short attention span - but on the other - it sure has been quiet around here. I think I'll get used to it. I just hope it doesn't drive me nuts and drive me deeper into my own head. That would be bad.

So far I have been pretty good about trying to reconnect with the world. A few days ago I went to the NC Art Museum and saw the Egyptian exhibit. I went and had lunch at CharGrill. I have met old friends for coffee twice this week (and they still seem decades younger than me.) And I have been trying to write.

If the money holds out and everything looks under control next month, I am going to take a day or two and go to the beach. I have not been to the beach in years and years and years - and it always renews me and makes me think more clearly. I think I need a beach trip. Before fall comes I am going to go to Asheville and see Biltmore again. It's something I've wanted to do all year. The book needs the detail that I've forgotten since my last venture there (ten years ago), and I could use the mini-vacation that the mountains always feels like.

If the Landlord from West Hell will stay away for awhile, I think I might actually get myself together a bit. I found a place; an apartment that I'm going to July 1. It's close to work, safe and has a great big deck (that unfortunately overlooks other people's great big decks... but what the hell.) I have very little furniture but what I have Lovely needs out of the house - so I am going to try to move it in July. Then I'll really start to settle in and become something close to myself... with my books and weird trinkets and oddities that no one would have but me.

The only really good thing I can see about living alone (except, of course, the time to read and write) is the fact that I can eat what I want, when I want and don't have a lot to clean up. I've almost become a vegetarian (if you don't count Salmon) and I'm starting to work out again (God it sucked getting restarted... two weeks or more off and my body thought I was joking.)

When I think about moving back to an apartment, the idea makes me a little sick. I worked so damn hard to recover my career, buy a home and get respectable... it just seems like such a bleeding failure. I hate renting - from anyone. I want to have four walls of my own that I can stack the books in and let them season a bit more. And maybe if I want to - leave the dishes overnight. (So far I haven't done that yet. It's surprising me how damn neat I actually am.)

Anyway... I had a not-terrible day today. Partially b/c I took off work and took care of important things I had neglected. Partially just because I have started to relax a bit (since the Landlord from West Hell hasn't driven me out yet again.)

I hate this place I am staying in, and can't wait till the new place is ready. That's the thing I'm most ready for; even if it's a couple blankets on the floor and a new pillow... at least I'll be the only one with a key. My paranoia will start to diminish.

I have laundry to do - then more writing. I just felt an update was in order.

|| Homelessness Hell ||

2007-06-11T16:45:00.000-05:00

Did you ever see the movie Pacific Heights with Michael Keaton? If not. You should.

I'll spare you the details, you can go read at the link provided what it's all about. But suffice it to say that I feel like I've walked into a Twilight Zone version of the flip side of the same story.

My "landlord" called me on Wednesday to tell me he was coming down (from DC to spend Thursday night at the house) and file some papers on Friday morning. Wednesday night in the middle of the night he starts emailing me all kinds of stuff - mostly information on how to get a rapid divorce. I bug out on Thursday before he arrives. He emails me to tell me how disappointed he is. he was looking forward to "...getting to know me better...". Then again on Thursday he emails me and tell me he's staying at the house over the weekend and Sunday night too - as he can't get everything in by Friday. "We'll get to know one another a little this weekend." I think not - I make myself scarce through the entire weekend.

Today is Monday and I got a call from him that he's staying tonite as well - and maybe Tuesday.

On top of all that, the Road Runner net connection I had installed on Saturday; he secured it and locked me out of it (I paid the installation, it's in my name, and I pay the bill.) If I had not come back here to pick up some things and do the laundry, I would not have the access I am connecting on now. But worse yet - he's got it set up in some manner that the only way I can get on it is if he turns something off at the wireless router. he's got some "boxes" hooked up (he installed in my absence.) It looks to me like there may be hidden recording devices attached... I dunno.

Maybe I'm paranoid.

I am so over this experience. I found another place and so I won't be staying "here" a single moment longer than I have to. The kindness of others is wonderful. I don't know what I would do without friends. But I gotta tell you - I just want fifteen minutes to myself (I haven't really had this in three weeks). A safe, comfortable place to lay my head down, and a steady net connection so I can write and work.

I am exhausted. Depressed. Beaten. Scared. And worst of all... Homeless for all intents and purposes... despite being poorer for having paid June Rent.

Technorati Tags | Pacific-Heights Michael-Keaton Landlord Renter-Hell Renter Nightmare |

|| This Really Sucks ||

2007-06-08T23:53:00.000-05:00

So after all I went through over the last several weeks; two different hotels, two different friends houses - basically close to two weeks homeless... I am once again crashing at a friend's house for the next several days.

Why? Well - funny you should ask. I would almost laugh if it wasn't so damn pathetic. You see, the place I rented that seemed like such a steal... well.... falls into the category of "If something seems too good to be true; beware, beware, beware."

If you've read my last post, you've already heard about the filth. Well... yesterday it got worse (in a manner of speaking.)

My "Landlord" is a weird dude. Sort of a middle aged geek who holds a government job. He's an odd guy who's not comfortable in his own skin.... and works hard to make even simple conversation. All of that is very forgivable, except that he's been emailing me at odd hours and now has started calling me.Yesterday he emailed me to let me know he'd be coming into town "now that I'm settled in" to "spend the weekend" and file some papers at the courthouse and "see how I'm doing".

Yeah... well.. "settled in" is exactly three days when I got this news. He said he'd be coming in on late Thursday night and STAYING TILL MONDAY!

The deal was when I agreed to rent the place last week that he was in town "maybe" once every 2 or 3 months and then only for a night to hit the courthouse on Monday morning. I figured I could live with that. Spend the night at a friends house (what's one night ever 2 or 3 months?)

So I have been here three days and this dude (who's shit is still piled up in this damn house after it's been empty for 3 to 4 years) is here for FIVE DAYS!!! And he's emailing me at night. He's calling me at work. Oh My Gawd!!!

So... I am crashing at a friends house (thank God for sympathetic friends) till Monday. And I have started the hunt all over again (thank God the lease is month to month.) Tomorrow I am going to look at an apartment near work that seems affordable and safe.

I am so homesick it hurts. I want my quiet house and my cats and my safe place that's just "home". This shit sucks so bad... I'm starting to REALLY feel homeless. (Maybe I can move into my storage space. It's heated and air conditioned and only costs $50 per month. I can think of worse at this point.)

I know one thing. I will not be in that house with the fucking landlord in it. He said one thing and he's doing another... and that's just fucked up. I am taking a friend from work over there with me tomorrow while I have to meet Time Warner to hook up the cable. He has agreed to "pose as" so as to ward this asshole off the trail once and for all. (It should work.)

If that doesn't work or has a less than desired effect, I'm taking my lease agreement to the Sheriffs office and see what can be done. I don't know what can be done... but I'll be damned if I am gonna take this shit any longer. My life is already too complicated. I'm happy to clean up the pig sty if that's what it takes to live... but the sense of entitlement and inappropriate conduct is completely beyond reason now.

I just hope I find a good place that is safe, clean and affordable by July 1. Or sooner.

|| It's All About Simple Goals ||

2007-06-06T17:39:00.000-05:00

I got online! (The neighbors must be out to dinner.)

Sooooo.... The guy at work who let me have his apartment had only one work of advice for me. He said, "You're going to get lonely. Don't do anything stupid."

I understood his meaning.

So with that in mind I've been really trying hard to pull back from all the shit in my head, center myself, get a "reset" and create some kind of simple routine.

For years my routine has been get up, go to work, labor, come home, fix dinner, clean up, maybe do some laundry (maybe not), hit the computer, then sleep when necessary. Saturdays and Sunday's were wild cards. As often as not my weekends were scheduled for me.

So... Now I have slightly (only) different plans. I have made it a goal to keep myself occupied by cleaning up this fucking pig sty (at least the parts I have to encounter.) Last night I spent two and a half hours cleaning the bathroom. I'm still not done... I'll finish tonight. But not before I assault the pantry in the kitchen. I opened the door unconsciously looking for something this evening - and for the last time (I hope) was just bowled over.

It's so disgusting I took some pix and made a bit of a collage just so you could enjoy. Now keep in mind (despite the bright colors) no one has lived in this house for more than three years. It's like archeology.

After I get my fill of this project (I think it will take longer than this evening) I am going to sit down and finally figure out my finances. That's going to suck.

I figure that after a month I may have this place reasonably safe to walk around in. You should stay tuned for the pix. I'll document the entire project. (I think I'll have to take a photo of the garage - just to prove I wasn't kidding in my last post.)

All of this makes me wish I'd been a better housekeeper - when I still had a house of my own.

Technorati Tags | garbage filth pigs gross house+cleaning refuse denial neglect renting divorce seperation |

|| Other People's Tragedies ||

2007-06-05T23:17:00.000-05:00

I haven't written b/c I have been purposefully staying off the computer. Trying to calm my head. That and the fact that over the last two days I haven't had regular access to an internet connection. (Convenient, isn't it.)

So - I am out of the swank apartment on the Preston Links and now into "my place" which isn't my place at all. Leave it to CraigsList to find something that's not quite as advertised.

In truth this place is an exceptional deal. $650 a month, utilities included for a big master bedroom and run of a very large house (at the moment I'm blogging from the kitchen table.) There's a bonus room w/ exercise equipment (in pretty good shape) that I have already availed myself of. There's a washer and dryer, dishwasher, and late at night the neighbors go to sleep and leave their unsecured wireless network wide open for leaches like me. During human hours I can't get on.... but after Jay Leno it's amazing. I pull it up, jump on, secure my VPN and I'm off. Tho I gotta confess - it sucks. Time Warner is coming on Saturday to hook me up so I can have reruns of the Saprano's, the new season of Big Love, and my very own high speed connection. That will be nice.

But here's the thing. The guy that owns this house; he advertised it as a short term lease. It all sounded very good but when I came to see it - it was a hell of a mess. Apparently he and his wife split up like four years ago. She moved out and left him here with his memories and very poor housekeeping skills. She and his son have been gone all this time - and since then he's moved to the DC/Baltimore area. But he hasn't done a damn thing with the house since she left... I mean literally... her shoes are still in the closet. Along with her clothes and his clothes and their dirty laundry and toddlers toys for a boy that's now probably ten years old. Her cosmetics are still on the counter in the bathroom (at least they were until I pitched them tonite in a rabid attempt to clean up the horrid mess and claim my space.)

Everywhere you look in this house is filth and mess. Piles of shit that no one cared about. Stacked in drawers and closets and every single corner and shelf. None of it is neat. None of it precious. It's all just refuse that two people simply walked away from and neither of them came back for. And I am plopped down right in the midst of it. It's like walking into some one's personal account of denial.

The toilets leak. The bathtub is busted. The doorknobs are loose (thank God the deadbolts work.) Every window sill has a pile of dead bugs and dust and grime... and this man who owns the place is under some illusion that he's sitting on a North Raleigh housing boom gold mine. He could use a lesson in Feng Shui. It might have saved his marriage (that said - it might have saved mine.)

When you pile your crap up in corners and you don't make any distinction between trash and treasures (baby pictures of his son folded up and crushed in tool drawers along side a box of nails and heavy duty staples) that's exactly what you get in life.

When I look around this place - as a woman - I am astonished that any woman lived this way. But there's ample evidence she partook of the piled up filth (pantyhose still in the dryer... and tampons laying around on the floor behind the toilet... her gross filthy high heels tossed in the closet along side dirty underware... icky bottles of shampoo spilled under the counter in the bathroom, discoloring the white cabinet baseboards and running under the moulding .)

That said, the worst of the piles of garbage are his. It's evident in the fact that his shit dominates the entire house. His tapes and CD's. His fraternity plaques. His golf manuals and his clothes (the man has clothes) tucked in every spare nook and cranny. He's got tools he's never used, cabinets from Lowes that were never unboxed. He's got four bags of golf clubs and more shit piled (literally piled) on top of more shit which is piled on top of more shit yet - filling the garage halfway to the ceiling. This is evidence of mental illness.

Did I mention the refrigerator, cabinets and pantry in the kitchen? There's baby formula in the pantry that has a date of 1999 on it. The fridge looks like he's stocking up for Armageddon - as do the dry goods cabinets. Why would anyone live like this? But moreover; why would anyone leave this shit in place for someone who's coming in, paying rent, and taking over your house??

Let me tell you what I think. I think the guy thinks that it's not a mess and that I'll just cut a path through. He may be right on the second count - but on the first one - he's mistaken. A friend of mine said that he's probably hoping that I'll clean up the mess for him (I have already begun that, just so I can live here.) I may clean up a great deal. Get the kitchen in order, clean out the closet upstairs. But the garage stays as is... there's no way I am going near that.

All of this is a long way of saying that this experience reminds me (cruelly) of the mess I left behind - both literally and figuratively. I have walked into someone else's tragedy... while walking away from my own.

Well. One way or another I am going to go back and try to clean up my mess. It may just be that all I can do is vacuum up behind myself and the moving truck crew... but I'll be damned if I'll leave Lovely wallowing in lingering reminders of my haunting former presence everywhere he looks... like this man's wife did to him. It's just an ugly kind of cruel.

I hope that I can do better than that. But only time will tell. I've left a hell of a wake - a breach in the crust. It remains to be seen whether anything constructive will ever come out of it. All I know is that Lovely and I can't live together. I make him crazy and he makes me stressed out. But there's got to be something salvageable out of nine years and five cats. There's got to be... if nothing more than a deep, deep, friendship.

I just don't fucking know. And it's breaking my heart. And it's breaking his heart too.

|| Weekend Approaching and Nothing to Do But Think ||

2007-06-01T18:32:00.000-05:00

I think I'll work. That's what I think.

Or I may take Grace II to Sanford. We'll see. She needs to be broken in and I need the diversion.

It hasn't been the worst week of my life... but it's so close that I don't ever want to get *this* close again. What I need to do is sit down in a quiet room for about six hours and just do deep breathing. Force myself to clear my brain and assess the turn of events and figure out which direction is up. At least I've stopped spinning and reeling. I think that little dance drew to a close when I landed here, at a very swank address, on (what I believe is the 9th hole) of a very swank golf course in a very swank gated community in a very swank town near my office.

This is the safest and least "exposed" I have felt since last Friday at six p.m. I have a good, solid roof over my head with a garage to pull the truck into, and double deadbolts on the doors. It's quiet. It's wired. And I'm writing a little again - which is nice. I'm eating pretty good and sleeping soundly. Haven't worked out all week - but I guess something had to give in all this upheaval. I'll get back to the routine as soon as I have a place of my own that doesn't have a check-out date and where I am not so conscious of leaving conspicuous evidence of my presence.

I'll tell you what. This experience has taught me a few things. First thing is that most people really do not want to hear about difficult stuff. People who claim - seriously, straight-faced to be your "good friend" - will avoid you like the plague if they get an inkling that you're really in need of one.

By contrast, the people you would never, ever imagine could possibly give a shit about your personal circumstances, get word that things are dire... and they come forth in the most astonishing ways with no strings attached and no expectations. That's how I landed in these great digs. The absolute kindness of a near stranger; someone who has "been there."

I honestly don't know how to repay this friend (more of an acquaintance) for his unexpected generosity. He says there's no need, just "Pay it forward." I sure hope I can do that one day. I'd really hate to see anyone else in this same situation. I'd do what I could - knowing what I know now - to assist and provide some cover. So maybe I have learned something positive from all this. I had become quite cynical. Now I am talking about actually offering generosity if I'm ever in the position. That's a change for the better. I used to think of the risks of getting taken advantage of (I still do.)

Anyway... we'll see if my mildly restored faith in humanity sticks (even a little.) I still basically think most people are completely unreliable and fraudulent. But then again I am surprised from time to time with the guardian angels that seem to appear out of nowhere with exactly what you need to survive. The Universe; she laughs at us and teaches us hard lessons rather cruelly. But I guess she has some pity on us too.

More to come. Just need to collect my thoughts and turn the laundry.

Technorati Tags | Homeless Homelessness Golf Generosity Strangers Kindness Pay+it+forward Guardian+Angels |

|| Circumstances Improving; Markedly (Well Sort Of) ||

2007-05-31T18:36:00.000-05:00

So tonight I got the keys to a friends unoccupied apartment. He took pity on me, and since it was empty, said I could crash as long as I needed to.

Over the last six days I have been drifting. Two nights here, two nights there, two nights at the other place that was worse than the last. All at a price tag that has me gritting my teeth for what I am going to have to shell out when the Amex bill comes due.

But tonight, with keys in hand, I opened the door on what seems - from my new, very humble perspective - a palace. I'm sitting in the living room on the plush couch, watching CSI on a brand new wide screen TV, hooked up to a high speed connection that does not cost $8.00 a day. The fridge is stocked and so is the pantry - and the washing machine and dryer (glorious devices!) are humming with a pile of dirty clothes I've been collecting like valuables.

Best part is there's a spacious deck overlooking the Golf Course at Preston (a view of a lengthy green, I might add, that would make one hellatious rifle range; a higher purpose.)

While the place is sparsely furnished, the fact that it has all these luxurious amenities (including a coffee maker that works; very important) I feel like (as compared to the last six days) like I died and went to heaven (almost.)

On Saturday I am going to look at a place that seems like it will do. It's a partially furnished house in N. Raleigh, the rent is cheap, and the neighborhood is safe and nice. It's an odd situation. A guy who got transfered to Baltimore. The house is just 3 years from being paid off - and he's just trying to keep it occupied for safety and to cover his mortgage. It's very affordable (compared to everything else out there.)

So... there's that.

My head? My head is still struggling. Every note that passes back and forth between me and Lovely - I ask about Duo and all the rest of the babies - and he never tells me. He just won't even acknowledge the question. I guess that's one more punishment.

His friends are plaguing me with commentary on the blog, observing that I need professional help and I should just stop feeling the way I feel. (The implication is that I am choosing to feel like this. I promise - I am not.) But even that is what it is. If they want to watch my melt down, they are welcome to. They can watch me recover as well.

More later.

Technorati Tags | Homelessness Upheaval Unstable Ungrounded Apartment House Lost |

|| Day Four; Why I Don't Have Any Friends ||

2007-05-29T21:40:00.000-05:00

If I thought my circumstances couldn't become any worse; just let me tell you - the Universe likes to remind us (karmically) how tragically fateful our pitiful lives can be when we swim against her tide.

The "Grand Plan" was that I would stay at my friends house till I could find a place of my own. She just bought it - hasn't even moved in - and so it would be no trouble at all. My friend is the kindest, sweetest women I ever thought I knew. She does church volunteer work, has about a billion and one friends from all walks of life, and never has a bad word to say about anyone.

So Sunday night she and her posse left me there to my own devices. I explained to her that I was getting my things (a truckload) on Monday, but I'd put everything in my room and wouldn't bother anyone. The house is half-moved into - with boxes piled up and paper still down on the hardwoods. I hauled my stuff in and got 3/4 upstairs last night (I just didn't have the energy to move the books upstairs b/c I was so exhausted from three days of moving.)

Tuesday morning I get up and finish watering her new lawn, I clean up the kitchen and straighten up my room, make my bed. I haul a couple more boxes upstairs (stacked neatly, there in my "guest room".) I finish my coffee and go to work and driving up - here comes my friend. I tell her I have left a few things downstairs in the kitchen but I will get them up when I get back this evening. I catch just a faint glimpse of an "expression" on her face.

An hour later she is in my office with the door closed telling me that she's "Just like me". She likes her privacy and likes her space and she's given me greater proximity than she would typically give anyone else. She asks me to be sensitive to that and keep my knowledge to myself. I am thinking "What knowledge? The fact that you have an elf collection?"

She's very serious and I'm pretty fragile and so I try to reassure her and I thank her for helping me out. (You have to understand that I NEVER, EVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES ask anyone for help unless I am drowning, desperate, dying. It was a stretch to take my friend up on this offer for assistance. I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been desperate.

So about 4:00, my friend says she needs to see me. She explains that she has a friend with a furnished, unused apartment and she thinks I'd be a lot more comfortable there.

People. I have to tell you. I have NEVER felt such mortal terror since the night I ran away from home the first time, with six dollars in my pocket, a shoulder bag carrying two pairs of clean under wear, and a Sony Walkman with about twenty cassette tapes - and nothing else. I prayed and put my thumb out to traffic on I-95 and threw myself into the power of total strangers.

Luckily then, I had guardian angels. Tonight... my angels are painted green on a Corporate American Express card, a wing and a prayer.

It took me less than an hour to clean out of my friend's place. She showed up about the time I finished loading my truck with this look on her face like she couldn't understand why I was leaving. "It's okay - you can stay till Thursday when my friend's apartment is ready." She said, helping me load the last few items into the SUV.

Yeah. You know... what do you say to that? I said, "No. It's really okay... I'm cool, and you have your space back and I really do understand... I'll be fine." (How many times in my life have I uttered that fucking, repeating, broken fucking record phrase to someone who just put a knife in my gut; "I'll be fine.")

Here's the lesson for me in this. Every time I think (even a little - just an iota) that I can count on someone... they prove to me ONCE AGAIN (as if I needed further evidence) that you cannot count on a single soul in the world except yourself. This is my burden to bear in this life. The absolute certain knowledge that the risks you take in trusting people will be repaid in lessons on why not to trust.

It's going to take me awhile to dig out of this hole. But I swear to God as my witness, this is a lesson I hope I never have to be given again.

I got sloppy. I got lulled into a comfort zone of sweetness and warmth and hugs. The fact of the matter is that hugs make the hugger feel better. I don't need a fucking hug. I need somewhere safe to stay.

The fact of the matter is that I have been in dicier situations than this and I kept my head and kept my cool. I am going to get through this and I am going to come out stronger, with my dignity intact, and with a much tougher skin with which to weather life's burns.

"Good people" are only so good as they want to be when it's convenient to them. Relying on anyone - for anything - is a quick trip to powerless hell. I acknowledge that I am powerless. I am powerless against my own naiveté, my gullible nature and neediness. But I'll be damned if I am going to stay fragile, dependent, and reliant upon anyone to put a roof over my head or hug me to make me feel better.

Tonight I am homeless, sitting in a hotel room, without a friend in the world. And you know what... it sucks. But it's not as bad as it could be (you don't have to look far - there are people living in the traffic island near this hotel.) Tomorrow, I don't know where I'll be - but I can guarantee you that I won't be relying on anymore "friends".

Friends and blood family just fuck you over. There has only been one person in the world I knew I could could count on come high water or hell - and true to my certainty on the nature of 'trust' - I just fucked him over.

So there's my karmic reward. You get what you give in the end. You don't ever get what you want - but you always get just what you deserve.

Technorati Tags | Karma Homeless Lost Friends Trust Dignity Facts+of+Life |

|| Day Three ||

2007-05-28T22:28:00.000-05:00

Three days. Well, not quite. Because most of those three days have been thoroughly occupied with doing something other than pondering what in the world I have done.

On Saturday morning I was up early to help my friend Mary move into her new place. I spent damn near all day working my tail off, unloading a truck and then putting together these two pieces of godforsaken, imported from China, “Some assembly required” furniture that was just about the most perfect busy-work imaginable for my particular circumstances.

Sunday was mostly the same. Finishing the assembly on the godforsaken furniture (why in the world anyone would buy that shit is beyond me) and then unloading more boxes and hauling them up stairs until I thought my back would break and my legs would give out.

When everyone left (left me here at Mary’s place, alone – all by myself) last night… the instant silence was absolutely deafening. I looked around at the boxes that were not mine to unpack, and I looked at the four walls and then at myself in the mirror, and I thought (rather ironically) “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

The universe has a way of torturing us that isn’t kind at all. I’m staying in a house with no radio, no television, and no Internet connection. Yes, the isolation and silence are deafening (to say the least.) My aloneness is ponderous. I went through the list of stored numbers on my cell phone just to see if there was someone I could call that might provide me a bit of a shoulder to cry on… and all I found was a lengthy list of co-workers and business associates; none of whom I would share this level of desperate terror with. There wasn’t a friend in the bunch.

Lovely was right – of course – as always. I have absolutely no one to count on. All my good friends are gone, grown up and away with lives of their own. They don’t need to hear my sad story. Maybe after I come in off this ledge, I’ll call Greg or Lee and see if either of them want to have a cup of coffee. Patrick and Peter would certainly listen… but both of them are in Sweden. Ben H. is married and living in Atlanta now with his wife and three kids. He was really there for me last time I felt anything close to this (not very close at all.) He helped me walk through it all, one foot in front of the other. I’m trying to call up what he advised me to do that made it easier… but I’ll be damned if I can remember.

I even thought of calling Mark. Wouldn’t that be a pathetic trip down memory lane? He could laugh at me, step back and point his finger and say “Look at you… you’re pathetic… doing it all over again… you selfish bitch… By the way, let me show you the latest pictures of Cal and Samantha. Calvin is eleven now and playing Little League, Sammy is seven and she takes gymnastics. And look… isn’t their mother beautiful?”

Glad I didn’t place that call.

So let me tell you what I am doing to get through it. It really is pathetic;

Camembert cheese, smoked gouda, anchovies and black olive hummus on Triskets and toasted bagels. I bought Brussels cookies to have with my evening coffee. I have egg salad for the morning, and apples and oranges and cucumber yogurt dip to slather on Genoa Salami. All things that are very decadent and that I wouldn’t ever have bought for myself before now because I have become very frugal with the grocery money.

If Camembert cheese and Genoa Salami is what it takes to make me feel better about my surroundings and circumstances; it’s an indulgence I’m willing to proceed with. It’s the little things in life that keep us going.

Earlier today I thought I was going to die; such were the waves of grief and guilt washing over me.

I bruised up my knees and legs pretty good hauling my things to my car from my former home. I hurt my back from lifting and made my head ache from crying and I made my soul ache from breaking a promise I had every intention of keeping. Lord, I know I am doomed.

Tonite, I’m too exhausted from all the emotional upheaval and heavy lifting to feel much of anything. Maybe numb is a state I should pursue with rigor. It can’t be hard to achieve. I hear people do it every day with drugs and drink and what have you. I don’t know what I’d use to get there, however. Drugs I simply cannot do. Drink, I have no tolerance for (my ½ inch nightcap of high end Scotch the obvious exception. I couldn’t drink enough of that to ever achieve “numb”.)

I gotta get up and go to work in the morning… so this is it from me for the evening. I’ll keep you posted on where the head is tomorrow (and the next day.) Hopefully every day will get easier… though somehow I doubt it.

Technorati Tags | Karma Kismet Pain Lonliness Isolation Fear Camembert Gouda Anchovie Salami |

|| Why. Not a One Word Answer ||

2007-05-27T21:07:00.000-05:00

An anonymous reader logged a comment on this entry. The comment/question was “Why?”. I have a pretty fair idea who the anonymous reader is… and I suspect that this person has an idea of the answer at this point. But just the same… I’ll do my very best to explain myself (though I know it won’t be sufficient.)

Why?
The answer is a lot of different things all wound up together. There is no single, one word or phrase response. I wish it was simple. Maybe then I would understand it better myself.

Here's the best I can do:
- Because I can’t be what I need to be, in order to make the relationship “Happy”.
- Because no one has ever been happy with me for very long, and I know the signs of ultimate “unhappy” and how torturous it is when it drags into “ugly” (as it inevitably will.)
- Because I don’t know what to do to make it work. I used to think I knew. I used to try to do it. But all that came of it was me getting further and further away from who I am (Whoever the fuck that is, I don’t know. Probably someone I really won’t like very much), and becoming desperately afraid of never finding my way back.
- Because I see what my distance and the ugly stuff in my head has done to our home (not just you and me, but also those five babies we both cherish.) One of those precious babies is sick as hell and dying, and I am so fucked up in my head, I can’t even stand to be near her for very long for what it does to me. It kills me that I cannot comfort her anymore. But I can no longer comfort myself either.
- Because my “head” and my distance has caused you to distrust me. That was the final straw. I realized I’d done to you what so many others had (even if I didn’t really – you still thought so – and whatever I am that caused you to feel this, it isn’t a good thing about me.) I realized that if I’m a person you believe you can no longer trust, then I have no business living under your roof.
- Because I started to feel (many, many months ago… maybe longer… maybe a year… maybe more) like I was dying inside. I lost all sense of wonder and all sense of exploration. I got wrapped up in fear and stopped “living”. I think in January that started to change…. though I confess it was a strange re-awakening.
- Finally; because all this work I need to do on my head to make it more “normal” (whatever the hell that is), to get rid of the demons and exorcise the angst; it’s work that you can’t help me with (no matter how badly you want to help, or protect me from it.) The only choice is take you through the fires with me, or walk through by myself. I watched my mother drag people along (she dragged me, kicking and screaming) through her bullshit. I won’t inflict my bullshit on anyone else – much less you. You don’t deserve it. No one does.

If it makes you feel any better (vindicated), what I am feeling right now – in this moment – is crushing panic. I have never been more alone in my life. No one to turn to. No one I trust. No one to really listen at the gut level; where it hurts most.

I looked out at my surroundings last night in disbelief and a wave of desperation overtook me right down to the core. I spoke right out loud (because there was no one around to hear me) “Jesus Christ, what have I done?” The reality of my circumstance is certainly making me feel “alive”, but it isn’t pleasant. It isn’t comforting. It isn’t going to make me any happier. But it’s mine and one way or another I guess I’ll struggle through it (or maybe I won’t. But either way, at least I’m not dragging anyone else through the refuse with me.)

I know all this crap makes no sense to you in the final summation. You did everything in your power to keep me safe and protect me (even from myself.) The thing you never could reconcile is that I need more than just safety and protection. Paternalism only goes so far. What I need doesn’t come in a bottle. It can’t be given or taken. It just has to be learned and earned. I’ve done neither. (But I am going to try.)

I understand I have been loved; though you never really did “get me”. You tried to and I would watch you fight the urge to just shake your head. Sometimes you did it anyway, saying “Terminally Unique.” Eventually you stopped fighting it altogether and you simply acknowledged – to yourself, to me and to just about anyone who would listen – that I was just a little bit crazy (more than a little on occasion.) And that living with me was equally crazy, hard and unsatisfying. I hate that about me.

You’ll never understand why I want to write books. You’ll never know how deeply my body just craves floating in the ocean letting the tide lift me and drop me. You’ll never get why I (rather pathetically) need to feel something other than ugly, old and afraid. You don’t struggle with things like this. And you don’t have any patience with anyone who does. You consider it to be way over the top self-indulgent to think like this – much less to act on it or act like it. I felt bad about myself for a good long time over these kinds of indulgences. I tried to make the need in myself go away.

It didn’t work. All it brought up was the most damaged part of myself. The ugly, unattractive, highly isolated “hag” that I can be that is so afraid of being hurt again that she wraps herself up in baggy clothes in many layers, and doesn’t speak to anyone except to insult; just to be sure no one gets close enough to hurt her again.

I don’t want to be her. I came as close to becoming her – permanently – as I have ever come in my life. Now I have to learn to be something else – someone else – who I don’t hate and who is worthy of good things, not just isolation and pain. Unfortunately from everything I understand so far about life and working through it, in order to clean house you need to first make a bigger mess.

That’s apparently what I am doing. I’m digging deep and making one hell of a mess. I just hope that when the mess is picked up, the whole environment is cleaner, sanitized and a better place to start over from.

Most of all I am sorry. I am sorry that I wasn’t able to be what would have made you happy. I am sorry I spent this last year putting you through hell. I am sorry for everything in me that has caused you pain.

Take some comfort from the fact that I am in a great deal of pain too. You can get angry and you can blame me. I have no one to blame but myself. At the end of the day, I think you’ll get through it better if you do get really angry and blame me. I wish I had someone to cast all this onto. Problem is; I know who’s to blame. (It’s my own damn fault.)

I know all of this isn’t a good enough answer. All I can say at this point is, “I’m sorrier than hell.”

Technorati Tags | Pain Regret Fear Lonliness Isolation Trust Damaged Lost Alone Broken |

|| Papa's Shoulder In My Moment of Weakness ||

2007-05-25T21:23:00.000-05:00

I'm running on batteries here, so it's gonna be a quick post.

Last night on the blog I called up my Grandfather. He showed up this morning (very early) in my dreams. He was sitting in the straight back chair in the living room looking at me with an impatient expression; his foot was tapping hard in his old worn out wing tips.

I asked him why he was impatient. He said "You know why." Then he stood up and walked out of the room without saying a word. I understood perfectly his position. He was impatient with watching me try to fit in and be something that I can't pull off anymore. He was impatient with watching me push everything down and swallow it like it all never happened and never existed and I can never do anything about it.

I've been thinking about that dream all day. Tonite I found myself sitting in that very same chair, caught myself tapping my foot as I tried like hell to avoid another round of painful drama... just pushing everything down and avoiding the truth, trying to spare someone close to me more hurt - while causing him more pain than I can ever understand.

I got up and walked out of the room. I got up and walked out of the person who hides from herself and hides from everyone else. I got up and walked out of self-loathing and blaming myself and trying to spare me and everyone else the very painful reality of imperfect life.

I got called selfish tonite. I'm certain that its true from one perspective. There are many perspectives in a multi-dimensional world. I'm looking at things from a wholly different point of view.

I spent the first fifteen years of my life thinking that everything was all my fault - and that if I could somehow be better I could fix everything. When I realized that wasn't true, I started blaming everyone else. That lasted perhaps twenty years until I was just so tired and beaten and tired of being beaten, that I simply gave up and relented my personality in exchange for quiet and safety.

It didn't quite work out how I thought. The quiet became a constant, maddening droning of explanation and justification and convincing myself of the fallacy that I'm really not so badly damaged and I can be normal and happy.

Then it all came crashing down.... the fallacy revealed that yes, it REALLY is all my fault b/c I am REALLY so badly damaged.... and not normal and not only alone in my head but making everyone else around me alone with the fears in their head too.

And suddenly I feel fifteen years old again and it all comes screaming back at me like a fucking nightmare.... I can't control it and I can't explain it and the more I'm pushed to express and explain and justify every blink of my eye and step I take... the more I feel fifteen years old and completely vulnerable to every bad thing in the world.

Tonite the grown up came out and saved the fifteen year old girl. The sudden clarity I felt as I watched the gears change in the engine that is my brain.... it was something. I stopped being the fragile fifteen year old who is foregoing her own sanity and self-respect for everyone else's comfort. I stopped playing the game.

Now I just have to handle the the meltdown.

Papa's shoulder's are broad.

I'm taking papa's advice. I'm letting go....