Growning Up June

Well, this has been an unusual week, and a extremely usual week. It was a hard week, that seemed to go buy in a blur. I have felt myself slipping back into the patterns of working and loosing contact with all that really seems to matter to me.

Today, I'm going to return emails, budget, get a calendar organized...All very grown up things that should help me get myself organized.

My significant other and I had some issues to cover this week. Well, he had some issues to cover with me this week.

It started with the line..."I have to talk to you, when I get off work. I have to have a talk with you." You know that line can never be good. And, of course, the little wheels in my head spun so fast. All the events from my past experiences choked their way to the surface. All the previous ways of handling those situations didn't apply here, because now I had a child and a home and so many more responsibilities to attend to. So, I sat there in sheer panic for a couple of hours until he got off of work.

Well, we did talk about the "issue". And he talked, talked and talked. Jesus, he talked. And I tried to listen. Once the issue was out in the open, there was this since of relief on his face, a huge burden had been lifted from his spirit. That face and way of sitting that showed the relief. And then there was me, and my decision to make...that very grown up decision to make. The issue in itself wasn't really what I expected it to be, it wasn't nearly as awful as I had imagined, but it was a big one, and it did have severe indications and complications. My significant other was in quite a pickle, and had been for a bit of time, without telling me anything about it. So, there was my decision.

His relief could almost be seen floating there in the air, the words actually changing composition and makeup, as the transferred in the short space between our facing chairs, to land on me, not as relief, but anger, panic, sorrow, and more anger. These words that released his breath to constrict mine.

I am not extraordinary in my relationships with men. In fact, I'm quite ordinary, quite fucking ordinary. I have taken care of men, in hopes of trading that position for love, practically my whole entire life. Growing up in the South, maybe the world, that's what most little girls are taught to do. And the internal struggle that I face, is that I don't want to do this. And I do not want to teach my son to expect this. So, there I sat with my decision.

Now, on the flip side of this, was my family. I've not had a family, in any since of the word. Not that unconditional, do anything for you, no questions asked support system...nope not me. Not, until now, where I created this realm for myself. This might have been the first year that I considered it as such. I sat there thinking that this situation might just be the test of this. So, do I run, do I stay, do I run, do I stay....

What if the situation was turned around. What would be the result that I would want?

Ultimately, I chose to stay. I chose us. But, not without discussion on my part. Not without certain agreements, and certain regulations, and certain points made, certain accommodations.

Was it the right thing to do? Hell, I just don't know. Time will tell me. The patience that I never had, or cared to have, is certainly being instilled, whether I like it or not. He had some fears that were similar to my own about life and our family. So, in the end, I found that we are, absolutely, in this together. Neither one of us is the rock in our relationship.

This situation took on a life of it's own in me. Past the first night of roundtable discussions and mediation and cleanup, it took upon to make a life for itself in me. I'm still sitting with it, even today, right now, there it is. The clock ticks. The urge to drink heavily for a bit, and fuck someone I don't know is there, simply for some release of my own. I won't do that, but it doesn't mean it's not there.

I cannot go to him right now, he's not stable enough to take it. I am having to be the strong one, which I hate being the strong one. On the other hand, I've fucked up lots, and he's only fucked up this once...which aren't bad odds, really. So, there's that, too. Can't I cut a brother some slack for being imperfect? Can't I?!? Can I ignore my own past, and separate this situation from all others? Can I do this?

So, due to my own past, this week I bounced between, We Can Do This...and watching my son's chest move up and down with his breath, while he slept, thinking...Oh God, What Have I Done.

Death Row - Oh Lordy, Trouble On High

Today, I watched the news this morning in my PJs with my coffee. I'm always skeptical of the news, and treat it, of course, like other peoples opinions, rather than, facts.

I watched the story about saving Stan "Tookie" Williams from death row.

One of his major supporters is Jamie Foxx, who played Tookie in the movie Redemption. I don't know much about Jamie Foxx personally. Although, I did wait on his father and a friend at a nudie bar once. And I will say that the other waitresses that day didn't want to wait on this table because they looked like poor, black men. Of course, that irritated me, on so many fucking levels. I never did work with the brightest of individuals at the nudie bar. In fact, on that particular day, I was working with the two waitresses that annoyed me the most. I often took pleasure in making fun of them, in ways that they couldn't really figure out what I was saying or doing, but it sure did hurt their little bitty tiny feelings anyway.

Some times they would collectively tell on me. Yet, while all of us, sitting in the office, they would never be able to explain what it was that they were exactly telling on me for. "She's being a bitch...I just know it.", they would say. Boo hoo hoo.

Needless to say, I took the table, and I made my money, as always. It's foolish to see any other color at the fucking nudie bar besides green. When will we learn our lessons?!? And this father was very proud of his son. He had pictures in his wallet to show. Very proud dad, indeed. Do, I really have proof that it was Jaime Foxx's dad, instead of some man with a story. Nope. But, at nudie bars, everyone had a story...That's the gimmick. And I was only there to bare witness, and bare waitress.

Anyway, back to my original thought. Tookie's other supporter in Snoop Dogg. Now, I like Snoop Dogg's music. However, I do not think that it's children appropriate, no, and he does continue to portray and maximize the benefit of the "thugs" life. He's a self stated pimp. I have yet to see if that's really and truly how he lives his life now, or if it's just a gimmick. Hard to make that call. And, at the very least, he being a society pimp, it way cooler that the white man's hidden pimping. We all have to, hands down, give him that!!!!

My thoughts on Tookie are as such. If he did not receive a fair trial, that is certainly one thing. Black people historically have not gotten a fair shake of things, and even in my own neighborhood, my work, my town, I still see this occurring. So, this is a strong point to consider. And he should not die if this was truly the case.

However, having had some personally bad experiences in my life, it's a strange call, death row. Some people go through life, just never getting caught. And at times, they redeem themselves on their own. It is a bit strange to say, just because you got caught, you are the one that has to die.

On the other hand, if you are the one who is involved in bad, bad things, and do get caught, it's not fair to the rest of us to keep you around. That's for sure. I don't want to keep footing the bill for food and lodging.

And, I do find it a bit insulting that while in prison, people suddenly find God or suddenly find the willpower to do good, once isolated from society. Everyone has that choice on the outside, too. I didn't have the luxury or having my meals catered to me, books brought to me, my education free. That point is a little sticky with me. Yeah, I do know exactly how bad prison is, but there are certain perks that no matter how bad the outside society is, the rest of us have to make our way, uncatered to, and without free education, without the free time to ourselves to culltivate big thoughts. Should we all go to prison to become better people? What about all the people that despite all the odds on the outside become badasses?

So, I am conflicted about the death penalty and Tookie.

One of the debaters this morning, pointed out, that while in prison, Tookie hasn't had a stellar career. He's thrown feces at guards, etc. I'm not sure that should count, exactly. I do not believe that Tookie would get off of prison death row and be caught fielding crap around the prison. Prison Guards are oftentimes, similar to the waitresses at the nudie bar, not the brightest or most thought provoking of our humans. And, I was mean to the waitresses on a regular basis, out of my own superior feelings towards them, and my own frustration of hearing them talk. Had I had to crap, or the inclination, I might have thrown my own poop at them. However, this is not acceptable behavior at the nudie bar, but is a common theme in the prison system. So, I'm not sure that we can call Tookie out for that.

So, my questions are these: Did he get a fair trial? If not, he should not die...just on principal.

However, just because he's done good while being locked up, that shouldn't erase what he did while the rest of us were struggling in the same world, outside of the bars of the prison system, should it?!?

Also, of those among us who just didn't get caught, will we face the same death, and be noble and rise up to confess our sins and crimes against humanity? Good enough for Tookie, good enough for the rest of us, right?

I am conflicted on this topic.

If it were my son or man or dear friend that were hurt during the commission of a crime, I would want to kill that person myself, and since that is against the law, I would want to see that person die in the chamber, yes, I would. So, who am I to say that those families that crimes are committed against not get the same justice? But, it has to be a fair trial, with no questions, that has to be prevalent. I would want to make sure that the right persons were paying for the crime. I would want the correct person to die.

In all fairness, I cannot say whether or not Tookie should be executed without hearing from the families that were the recipients of his initial crimes. The news program and the website for saving Tookie did not include those opinions; therefore, I cannot make a clear judgment on this matter. And the fact that Arnold Swartaneger is having to make a decision on clemency for Tookie Williams is just a joke to me, personally. I do not think that he should be allowed to make this decision. He has not been the positive cross over example like Clint Eastwood, Sonny Bono and the likes. What are you kidding me?!? On that point, I do absolutely feel sorry for Mr. Williams.

Tookie's website is www.savetookie.org just in case you want to check it.

Below, is an email that I sent out about a situation that occurred while be laid out with a broken leg. A strange similarity to the situation that occurred this morning, which parallels the topic. And killing people always merits discussion.

I have gotten the go ahead from the doctor to return to work for half days starting on Halloween. I'm thinking about going back to the office as Superman. My time has come. I have started driving a bit, and that's very freeing. I'm also way more tired. So here comes the Pain and the Gain. I will start Out Patient Therapy next week. I am looking forward to the pool therapy. St. David's pool is extra chlorinated to safe guard against "little accidents". That is a comforting thought. So congratulations to me for making it through to this part of my accident.

Now to the weird part. I must state that both my Occupational Therapist and my Physical Therapist are wonderful, intelligent, extremely educated humans, before you begin to read this.

My Quaker In-Home Occupational Therapist Mary has been writing this man on death row for sometime. She has become his friend. He was scheduled to die yesterday at 6:00 PM, as every death row inmate is schedule for that exact time in Texas. And a side note, it is my understanding that "the last meal" is really whatever the prison's kitchen can provide that's like what you've asked for. If you want KFC chicken strips, you will not be getting the Colonel's 12 Secret Herbs and Spices. You will get Huntsville 12 Secret Herbs and Spices. So, I did think that part was kind of extra shitty.

She went to visit this man this week. While visiting him, he had family and friends, etc. One of his friends was a woman who had been writing this man for over six years. She flew all the way from England to visit with him before his execution. She had also grown so fond of this inmate that she named her son after him, and has begun to create a wall mural in his honor. I(I personally think that perhaps if you go to this point with an inmate, you might have a bit of a screw loose. It is weird.) Quaker Mary stated that while she and her church went to visit these inmates, and they may be bad people, there is also the flip-side of this and there is God in them as well. She did not believe that after getting to know him that he did it. My Quaker was very saddened this week by this loss of a human on the planet. However, she will continue to write and minister to inmates on death row.

I also saw my Physical Therapist Therapist, Holland Frank, this week. Holland Frank married a woman who's daughter was married to a very abusive man. The step-daughter and husband bore a child and then divorced due to his violence. Oh, the restraining orders and court battles that ensued. Eventually, this woman had to go underground to get away from her jealous, abusive ex-husband. Later, this ex-husband would pay a man $1,000 to kill the woman's new boyfriend. The new boyfriend was a fireman with two children from a previous marriage. His body was found shot in the head, in the middle of a field, with no wallet or id of any kind.

The killer who received the $1,000 for the hit (yes, just $1,000, which I thought was very inexpensive for a hit) was caught using a credit card of the dead man, and is currently serving a life sentence. The ex-husband got death row. Holland Frank had first hand knowledge of this man's ugliness. And there is currently a investigation ongoing into how a birthday card was received from this man on death row to the son, after the woman and her son's identifies had been changed and their whereabouts ordered to be kept secret because of his previous death threats and violence- there was a leak in the system. Even from death row, this man had convinced someone to sympathize with his plight. It's been said that criminals can be rather convincing and persuasive, and will only tell you what it is that they think can benefit their situation with you.

Holland Frank and Quaker Mary and I talked at length this past couple of weeks about death row and the implications of it, and the religious aspects of it, the societal aspects of it, etc.

Luis Ramirez who was executed yesterday at 6:00 PM was both the one and the same man to both Holland Frank and Quaker Mary. The Friend to Quaker Mary and Stalker to his step-daughter and grandson to Holland Frank. And somehow, out of all the Rehab Patients in All the World, I had them both in my home. We were now, not only drawn together by my own knee injury, but by a gripping society topic, and a killer's death. Ramirez was the 15th Texas death row inmate to have his execution carried out this year.

Quaker Mary gave me a copy of the statement that she wrote about her friend Luis Ramirez and a copy of the song that she played to him and herself for comfort. Holland Frank got so angry, and asked me to throw out the papers, as this man was a very bad man, and the planet was better without him. I replied to both that I would write this story about how we all met at my house and how I am still no clearer on my feelings about the Death Penalty than before I met them...

http://www.news8austin.com/content/your_news/?SecID=278&ArID=148062

XO,
June Doe

I don't mean to be a ball buster during the holidays.

I wondered what happened to Cindy Sheehan.

I had to wonder about the whereabouts of Cindy Sheehan.

America is so fickle about our causes. We drop them as fast as they seem to come up.

What I admire about this woman was her ability to single handedly rally her cause without violence.

In that, the President and others in power should learn a lesson. She has no guns, no body piercing armor, no weapons of mass destruction. I can't hardly stomach that the phrase "Weapons of Mass destruction", it is a real phrase that everyone's ok with saying. All these countries making their armies, and their weapons, for what?!? Do we really need all that shit?

As a planet, we have collectively made a grand pile of crap. I don't want to hurt anyone, I don't care to have the finest of everything, I'm happy to work...so what's up with the world of greed?!? Is there really such a big deal on fine wine, clothes and caviar? Would I personally need to experience all of that?!? Nope.

I have, in my lifetime, experienced some of these so called finer things. And they aren't that cool. I've had just as good a time on cheap whiskey and good conversation. Yes, indeed...Cheap whiskey is a great memory maker. I've had a great time in my life looking at naked men without armor on....Yes, I have.

I watched the history channel yesterday - it's filled with wars and treaties and the like. Grand guns and paper promises. Our history is bound by other people making decisions for us. We have always seemed to lack the ability to be free thinkers. We are collectively stuck in the herd mentality, just like cows and sheep and schools of fish. Need I remind us all, that herds always just get eaten. Look at the bison...Where are they now? Herd mentality is extremely overrated.

I suppose this came up for me, as it does every year, on Thanksgiving. History tells us that we supposedly sat down with the Native Americans and ate, peacefully and in the spirit of sharing and caring. But, as grown ups, we know this not to be the true story.

Where are all the Native Americans now?

We did not sit down and share and care. Our forefathers and foremothers raped and pillaged until the Native Americans were reduced to small plots of poverty stricken, casino laden, drunken escape. That's what was shared with them. We gave them disease and called them evil. Do the Native Americans left today celebrate Thanksgiving? I've never seen a news program on that subject. What were they all doing on the reservations yesterday?

So, every Thanksgiving, there I sit with my internal struggle. I want to be thankful for all that I have. And I am thankful for all that I have. I'm just not sure that this is the day that we should all be doing it on. And I'm certainly not comfortable with the fact that this national holiday is based on lies. Is that what I'm supposed to teach my child? Lies and rape and pillaging are supposed to be celebrated?

I don't mean to be a ball buster about it.

I'm just saying, that for me, it's a weird holiday. And no, I didn't explain all of this to my child, but I will. No need to ruin his day, especially when he decided to venture out and try new foods at the dinner table.

But, yesterday, our President called some of our troops. He called them from his dinner table, in his warm house, with his warm food, with his warm family. I seem to recall a time in our world history that conquerors went out with their men to fight. That they were there on the grounds of the battle first hand. That hasn't been for some centuries now, I suppose. Or maybe it only happens in some smaller, remote places.

I would have more respect if that occurred nowadays. We've made it so very easy for our leaders to send us to our deaths. I would not give up my child or my man for this cause. I'm reluctant to give them up for any cause. We've made it very easy for all of us to kill eachother as well. Bigger buttons, bigger weapons. We've taken the heart out of killing for a cause. We no longer have to face our so called enemies. My Grandfather went to wars, and he truly bore the scars of having to face his enemy in death. He watched them die, sometimes in his arms. He carried that with him. And if we are going to kill in the name of some cause, we should bare those scars. We should look the death of any other human right in the face, and bare witness to it. Death and war should not be comfortable ever.

But, we can sit in the comfort of our own homes and watch our TV's. How noble we've all become. Isn't it wealth and nobility that these people are after? Well, they've missed the fucking point.

And then there's the likes of Cindy Sheehan. She holds us responsible for our actions. I admire her for that. I cannot, in my heart of hearts, believe that we cannot work matters out world wide without weapons.

I talk matters out in a much smaller scale every day. I do not have to carry a gun around to solve my problems. I would be arrested for that type of action. Therefore, I have a hard time believing that this cannot be done on the larger scale.

Perhaps we should all make better use of making Citizen's Arrests. With the likes of all the scandals going on in government these days, can we do that?, make Citizen's Arrests?!? That would be grand.

(Mental note, Check Into Citizen's Arrests for Tom Delay, Scooter Libby, Halibertain Directors, Dick Cheny, FEMA officials, etc. Also, note, I am not a Republican hater, just a scam artist hater, look into Democrats in power as well for Citizen Arrest list.)

What if we all just refused to fight about anything. What if all of us, not in power, just refused to fight, world wide. Everyone.

Then what would the people in power do then? They would have to get their hands dirty. They would have to go to work. They would have to do their fucking job. That's what would happen. And good enough for me, good enough for them. If you want the finer things in life you should have to work for them, right?!? Right?!?

Maybe the world leaders could just arm themselves and we all pick a spot and they could duke it out. If they want to fight, let them. I just don't want to.They could have sticks and stones, etc. I'll bring cheap whiskey, what will you bring?

Maybe next Thanksgiving we could just do that. No one anywhere, do anything. No working, no nothing. Then we would all have something in common and something to be truly thankful for. We could drink, eat and be merry, and they could fight.

I can dream. Yes, I can dream. You may dominate my body, and maybe even my mind, but never my heart and spirit.

I love you Cindy Sheehan. And I am thankful that you are out there.

The Reality of Having a Good Wiener and a Good Purse

The Spirit of the Holidays in upon us all.

My friend Ric once wrote a short about how we should give each other bags of coal or shit during this time of the year, and be nice the rest of the year. It was a fantastic sentiment. One of which, I cling to in my hopes and dreams.

This week we had our Potluck Thanksgiving luncheon. It's the same every year. All the same people, sit with the same people. And all the poor worker bees bring the food and all the higher ups with way more money eat the food and don't bring anything. It's hard on me to each traditional meals with people I don't like, the table filled with empty conversations. It's just weird, and very creepy. I also don't like having to struggle to provide food for people who have plenty. That's weird and creepy as well.

They did decide to give me holiday pay like the rest of the full time employees. I'm still on workers comp. The cost of their kindness is about $160.00.

Part of me recognized that they were doing me a favor, and they were being kind to me. And part of me didn't want to have my laundry out in the air for decisions to have to be made about, and part of me didn't want to thank people for doing the right thing. And this point of kindness was dramatically not emailed to me, but spoken to me, to drive the point home. I said thank you several times. But, I would have preferred to just have had it told to me in an email. If you have to think about doing the right thing, soooo much, do you deserve recognition for that? And I do recognize and understand that it's just business thinking. If they do for me, then by proxy, they have to do for everyone, and at what cost. I see that point, actually. It was still quite uncomfortable for me. I'm not one to ask for help from the people I love, so with people that I don't love, it's just agony. But, for my child, I will go through whatever personal embarrassing hell that I must, in order to insure that he has a nice, worry free, Holiday Season. He brings out the best in me, that's for sure.

I am getting to run our office clothing drive for the homeless. I did this last year, and we didn't do so bad. This is to help the homeless find clothes appropriate for job interviews. I've been in that situation before, not having something appropriate to wear to better myself. I think that it's a great idea. In our society image is everything. And, although, I am deeply against that, I also know that it's out there. Even after years of clean up and dress up, people judge me all the time.

I have a few people at work who think that I'm just some strange "Austin-type" person...whatever that means. And even more recently, at the hospital, when I pushed my pain medication button too many times, I must be a drug seeker, not in pain.

When these people saw my job title and the rest of my friends and family, they changed their mind, but not at first. Why would someone break their leg to get drugs? Going to Mexico or switching doctors a lot would seems a bit easier route to take. I've never heard of anyone hurting themselves in the manner in which my leg was hurt for shitty hospital grade swag. But, I'm not a scenester, times could have changed.

And now, not having just the right pants or purse can change anyone's life. Yes, this in an important point to make and to remember. And if I can help someone else have that right, one thing, I will make it happen - no matter how silly I think it is that anyone has to have that right, one thing.

We have progressed past the need for warm clothing and food. We are in the realm of fashion. As a society that's what we've made of our people. The homeless are our poorest fashion victims.

If we all just got uniforms, this would be so much simpler. We could go back to judging within, instead of around.

Ahhhh, the Holidays....They make me woefully giddy. And, I say, with my walker, and most sincerely, God Bless of Every One.

On a side note for today: The outside hotdog vender and I are considering writing to a TV reality show and asking for them to film us switching jobs for a bit. Why not?!? People switch moms, why not jobs. I did point out that he's a man, and men typically do succeed in my field of work more than women. So, it might just be a vacation for him. And I, for once in my life, would have to take instruction from a man about the different types of wieners available - he would have to train me on the sale of his wieners. That's just funny, good times.

Bikes, Boobs, Parenting, Patrick, Jenny and Joel

Friday night, I was involved in a bike messenger bike race. Of course, I didn't ride, because of my fucked up knee. (I have to put that in, because strangely, even with the scar and the walker, people did ask.)

I was in co-charge of one of the stops. My friend Joel and I had to sit in front of a coffee shop. While we were busy with the bikers, I did try to get a person's attention that worked there. She said through the glass that she couldn't hear me, and walked away. I even showed her my walker. It didn't work. Yes, I know that in coffee shops you have to go to the counter to get your shit. And I know that there is no waitstaff. However, I also know that if she had made the choice to help me a bit, I would have tipped her big time. When I waited tables and other various jobs of the like, I was there to make money. I didn't care so much about hanging out and chatting it up with the people I worked with.

Case in point, at the nudie bars some waitstaff didn't want to wait on some of the guys in there because they were perverts. I, on the other hand, thought they all sucked as humans equally, therefore, money was money, and I would take it all. So, this girl, at the coffee shop, was selective about making her cash. And knowing what I know, I'm better off not having her make my coffee anyway. Lazy making money equals lazy about the latte. Just a point to remember, I give you that one for free.

To continue: When the bike messengers made it to our shop, they had to dismount, lock up their bikes, and while Joel stamped them, I took and article of their clothing, and gave them a pair of silly underwear to wear - that they HAD to wear.

Now, most people were very cool about it, and even thought it was a bit funny. And most people were smart about it, giving up a sock, a sweat stinky sock. Quit a few seem concerned about getting their possessions back. As though Joel and I had some secret fetish for stinky, sweaty items of clothing. Maybe Joel and I just looked the type. Hard to call that one. Of course, he and I assured them that they would all get their items back at the end of the race.

The whole event was being filled for a public television show. Which I think is great. My friend Patrick, who put on the whole thing, is very proud of his work. Most of the bike messengers are a bit of a healthy, strange cult. And by proxy of being healthy, they help the world by delivering packages for businesses on their bikes. Fast, secure, cheap, environmental protection. It's all very cool. I, on the other hand, smoked and drank coffee through the whole race. However, I did buy new five pound arm weights at the store yesterday, so change may be possible.

One of my Physical Therapists from the pool therapy I'm involved in, took me up on my invitation and joined up. I really like Jenni, so much. She's a bit more conservative than I am, (shocker), but she doesn't get mad at me for saying the word fuck or smoking...she's very cool. She had wine and goofed with us on the bikers. I am hoping to add her to my friend list. She may come to find out that I'm a lot more conservative than most people believe on certain points. When it was time to go, I offered her a ride to her car. At first she declined, maybe because that might cross the patient/therapist line, or maybe she hadn't made up her mind if we were too weird or not. But, I didn't want her walking alone in the dark to her car. She relented, and we safely dropped her off, unharmed.

She was going to a spa on Saturday. She deserves it. Physical Therapists not only have to help you get your body back into gear, but they have to listen to your shit as well. That's a lot to ask for in a person for a paycheck. I wouldn't want to do it. I'm just the patient, and I don't want to do it.

Now, Joel and I did have a couple of jerks. One that sticks in my head the most, was this man on a two seater bike, with his nine year old daughter. When they got to our stop, he didn't really want to lock up his bike, but he did it. Then when we said that they needed to give up an article of clothing, he insulted Joel and I, by trying to hand us a binder clip. Now, Patrick, the boss of the race, had been very specific about the rules and not to let people bend them. So, I said that wouldn't do. The man, right of the bat, turned straight up hardass jerk on me. Arguing that I should let him bend the rules. I told him that I couldn't do that, rules are rules. Then he called me stubborn. I told him that these weren't my personal rules, and by entering the race, everyone signed up for the same rules, and I was making everyone do the same thing. It was not as personal as he was trying to make it.

So, he tried to hand me a bag that he kept his rain gear in. I handed it back to him, explaining that it had to be something that you actually wear, not something that you keep the stuff you wear in.

Jesus, did he argue. He was so angry, in front of his kid. Now, Patrick had told me that I wasn't allowed to say anything to anyone about what item of clothing that they were to give up, but I did bend the rules a little bit for this man and his kid, hoping for the child's sake to end the embarrassing display that her father was showing. I told him that some people gave up a sock.

WELL, he wasn't going to do that!!!! And this was STUPID!!! And he and his daughter weren't in it to win ANYWAY!!!! Why couldn't I just stamp his paper?!? NEVERMIND!!! THEY DIDN'T NEED THE STAMP ANYWAY!!!!

AND...I SHOULD CUT HIM SOME SLACK BECAUSE HE WAS DOING THIS WITH HIS NINE YEAR OLD DAUGHTER!!!!!!

I replied that if they might win, then it would be by cheating, and rules are rules, and I didn't want to argue about it. He called me stupid again, and the race stupid again. I said that he didn't have to enter it, if it was so stupid. He had made that choice, not me.

The little girl offered one of her gloves, and her dad yelled at her, that she wasn't going to give up any clothes, because that was soooo stupid. Pretty bad, when your own child even tries to smooth it over for you.

And they unlocked their bike and took off.

My thoughts were:

I have a small child, and I wouldn't have necessarily entered a race for growups, that went through the middle of downtown, during busy rush hour traffic.

Also, if for some ungodly reason, I had made that crazy decision to put me and my child in harm's way, I wouldn't teach my child to win by cheating. My child is already a cool, badass kid. I would have stood there at the stop with him, knowing that we probably had a slim chance in hell of winning, but we would complete the festivities in our own good time, try our fucking best, and said, "What should we give up?!? A sock? Underwear? Yours or mine? Your call, little man. "

I was very angry for a bit of time, at this man. Isn't just like a white, redneck man to cheat his way through something. Yes, I did think that. And with his girl, as if she's not going to have a hard enough time in life, being a girl in this world. I hoped that she didn't was maybe from a divorced family and didn't have to live with the overbearing son of a @##$!! all the time.

Great Parenting Job, Jack Ass!!!!

As a woman, a parent, and a sacred rule keeper, I was highly offended. And what's worse, is I'm still spending time on it. Oh, the humanity of it all.

And, we did have one other angry man. He didn't want to give up and article of clothing either. He tried to threaten us a bit in his voice by telling Joel and I how much he'd love to just give us his underwear. I told him, Okay, Do It. I don't care.

He touched his pants, and then gave up a sock. He didn't really have the balls. He made sure that we knew just how stinky his sock was. I replied, he wasn't the first stinky sock, and I would just put it with the others. No big deal to me. Inside, I smiled a bit. I knew, he recognized just how ordinary he was, despite his bravado.

Later, at the bar where everyone met for drinks and awards, he would be the man talking about nudie bars. Making the comparisons between Dallas, Austin, and Houston. I could have been mean to him, probably even made him cry, but I didn't. He just do it to himself without my interference. It takes a ton of work to be so ordinary. Just because you can do something, doesn't always mean you should. And he would have tried to fight me anyway. And even though I do have amazing upper body strength, having your butt kicked by a girl with a walker, well, that might have just pushed him over the deep end. I don't want that kind of blood on my hands.

The night ended with Joel and I eating and chatting. I told Joel a few secrets as he's in that type of friend category now. He bought my dinner as well. Maybe, he didn't think that I noticed, but I did. And that was cool. Joel is going to be famous one day. I'm lucky to know him before that shit hits the fan. He's a film maker, of the rare breed, that actually has some incite and talent with it. He also, is very careful when he speaks. When he says something, he has actually processed it through his mind before letting it out of his mouth. A mastery of sorts that I am severely lacking. One has to wonder how he tolerates the likes of me.

Note, to hook Joel up with other smart friends to build better world.

What if all the schizophrenics are right?

My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic.

It has taken me a long time to say that phrase outloud to people. In movies they often glorify this disease, missing the point and true horror and humor of it all. I'm still waiting for the documentary. My mother could have been a good mother, maybe one of the best. I sometimes catch glances of it, just sometimes.

I used to be so embarrassed by her. I still am sometimes. But, then again, who isn't embarrassed by their mothers at times. I'm not abnormal in that.

She used to beat the shit out of me when I was little. I am amazed that I was so sturdy. I look at my own child, and could never do those things, as he's my beautiful little man. But, I'm not schizophrenic, either. I used to hear her, late at night, and I knew that it would be starting. I would always do the same thing. I would get up, and slide pj feet to her, and smooth her hair, making promises that it would be alright, and I would be the best kid ever. I promised.

Yeah, I get it that it's not my fault. And I get it that I'm not the best kid ever either. But, I'm not here today to share too much therapy shit with everyone. So, don't get on the feeling sorry for me horse. Please, just don't do that. Rarely do I let people into that place, so it's a waste of your personal time to try to get it. Everyone has their secret places. This is one of mine and it's well guarded. (I'm smiling at this part.)

As my mother tells it, those times never happened, and the great, giant machine of "they" got to me and put these memories in my head. Always with the "theys" and the "thems". Sometimes it was even ME that did those things. She doesn't often take that route, but sometimes.

I don't often talk about it outloud. People don't really get it. It's a far fetched reality for the average joe. Beyond comprehension. I think most people miss the difference of when I'm trying to work something out about mom, and when I'm just venting. And sometimes, she's just funny, really funny, and I need to talk about that,too. But, most people can't even see the humor of my mother. So, it's just me and a few other people who share this secret joke.

Several people often make the suggestion of therapy for myself. I did that. And some things can't be whisked away by therapy. What I've found instead, is that my mom is a constant. And it will always be a constant. And what I think, is that it's okay to have some constants in yourself that aren't pretty or safe or happy. Those things are part of us as well. You just have to be careful not to drown in them. That's when you go to therapy.

She's gotten worse over the years. Sometimes she gets arrested and goes to the State Hospital. However, the laws are set up to take care of the mentally ill person's rights. I think this might have been a double edged sword. (aren't all swords double edged?!) The local Governments aren't responsible to the mentally ill anymore, because we have had to preserve their rights. No one wants to pay for them. But, then everyone complains that they do criminal acts and run amuck being crazy and making people uncomfortable. Well, we can't have it both ways.

Should it really be my sole responsibility to take care of my mother? Well, news flash to the public...I can't take care of my mom. And I don't really want to, she's a big pain in the ass. She's a giant pain in the ass. Her disease really just is that bad. I do not have the physical, emotional, or monetarial means in which to do so.

It's not my fault or responsibility to have been born to a crazy person. Maybe, someone should have gotten to her before she fucked my dad. How about that idea?!?

If we're all going to give everyone equal rights, one of those rights, is to fuck. We can't just make the kids of these people automatically responsible for the crazy person's shit. We can't just make strange support groups, or shake our heads saying how sad it is, etc. That's fucking stupid and insulting and annoying.

I don't cut my mother off completely, she is my mom. But, I,now, just send her a little money when I have it for her to go to Wal-Mart. My mother loves to shop. Paranoid Schizophrenics are a very decadent sort. Always buying stuff and more stuff. My mother has piles and stacks of shit in her home, in a couple of storage units. Piles and piles of just shit. Schizophrenics always live beyond their means. She has a hard time getting it that she's on permanent disability and that's all she's got. She tried to by a giant Caddie once, fully loaded. I have to give her props for that one.

And I wait. I wait for the call. The call will be that she's dead or locked up. That is how this will end. Maybe she'll just hurt herself, that would be ideal. But, there is a bigger chance that she will hurt someone else. She may be locked up for good, or maybe the cops will shoot her. Hard to predict, but the outcome of my mother's life will be that she will not die in her sleep, she will not go quietly. I can predict that. Yes, I can predict that.

And today, she's off her meds again. Last time she was arrested by the local sheriff's department and hauled off to the nut house, she put of quite a fight. She bit a cop. He will bare the scar of my mother's teeth. I think that's part of their compensation package. She's a bit of a local celebrity. He's lucky. He will have a story to tell. On a personal note, it is kind of cool that she can get away with doing things like that. Last time I got a speeding ticket, I would have felt better if I could have bitten the cop that wrote it. But, alas, I do not have that luxury.

Today, she's called me thirty times in about an hour. Just this morning. They are all the same calls. This time her state legislature voted her in as a felon, although she has yet to find the paperwork to prove it, but she assures me that she will, and that's why she had to pay more to renew her license. And the whole nation is in on it. And there's complete anarchy everywhere, and everyone around her has been prostituting themselves out for their rent. (Which could be her, too, for all I know. I try not to think about that.) And the government is supposed to give out masks to protect us all from germy bad breath and she hasn't received her's yet, so it's just another big clue in the giant cog of her demise. They are out to get her.

I could go on, but you'd just get freaked out.

Schizophrencis can make the most astounding connections in their heads. Their imaginations are so vivid and intricate, it's amazing. It's as though their minds just go so fast that is the reason they break. If one were to look close, maybe there would be smoke coming out of their ears. Maybe if we looked that close.

Lightening fast images and sounds, and broken bit of stored information. She's very educated, my mother. She could have been a contender. However, her education and her smarts make her for a bigger more manipulative pain in the ass instead. (I sigh.) Sometimes, I can't keep up, and don't even try, it's all gibberish anyway. But, it's fast and furious gibberish.

Sometimes she just screams and tears stuff up. And she always ends her calls by saying, "Ok, talk to you later, I love you. Goodbye." She always says that, she remembers to say that.

I can't listen for very long. I'll listen a few times, then I have to tell her that I'm hanging up, and the machine is going to get the rest of her calls. After the machine fills up, I erase the messages without listening to them. That's our relationship. She talks nonsense and I erase the messages.

We are as honest as we can be with eachother. When my son was born, my mother very timidly asked me if she could ever hold him or even babysit him. I told her, "No Mom. That won't happen for us." She was a bit quiet, but didn't argue. I know sometimes she knows she's nuts. She didn't fight me about it. I do send her pictures and tell her stories. But, that's all we can have on that. My son will not be apart of that world for now. I can be a good mom and protect him from that. I brought him here, and I own him big time.

If she survives until he's older, until he can protect himself, I can try to explain, and he can make his own choice. But, in the case of my mother and I and my son, we have to loose those formative years. Sometimes, I do get very sad about that. Who wouldn't? But, right now, never these two will meet. That part of my life has to be in two different parts. Yes, I will admit, that is very, very sad.

I saw, on TV, the other day, a court case involving children and their schizophrenic mother. The mother killed three out of her five children. Two survived.
I always find it so weird that people in court have to decide if the woman or any other crazy person, was truly nuts and incompetent when she hacked up her kids. My mother knows the difference of right from wrong. But, can she control her urges? No, she can't. She is completely nuts. I watched the experts try to explain, and I watched the lawyers ask their questions, and I watched the jury's faces. This women will probably go to jail, instead of the nut house. In the case of schizophrenics, they do know right from wrong, but that doesn't mean that they can function and control themselves and act appropriately.

And I do feel for my mother. She doesn't like to take the medications. They make her feel numb. They do horrible damage to her body. I get it. The drugs are a shitty, shitty, shitty alternative to being able to live. Is it fair to ask someone to stop living all together for our safety? It is a valid question. Would any of us do that for society? People in power often do not give up something for the good of society, so why should my mother have to? Yeah, sit and comtemplate that one for a minute.

If the President doesn't give a shit about society, well, maybe Mom should either. He's certainly not above my own mother.

In watching the court case, they all really had no idea, the whole lot of them. I think they would do better to have people who have been living with crazy people as expert witnesses. This woman did a horrible crime, three of her children are dead, and she has to be locked up for sure, but not in jail. The law is a little gray. A person can still know right from wrong and not be able to act accordingly.

Especially if God is whispering in your ear and the Government, Aliens, and your neighbors are out to get you. What?!? Are you kidding me?!?

So, today, I wait till my answering machine finishes filling up again. I'll erase the messages and wait for the call from sheriff's department, if it comes. Sometimes, I have to dig around to find out where she's at, because of the HIPPA laws. My son and I are going shopping for new pants and have lunch. I'll do my laundry, and clean up the kitchen. Maybe we'll watch a movie, maybe I'll have a nap.

Later, I have to light a candle in secret. And, I'll make a wish, blow it out, and I'll wait for tomorrow.

Today is my mother's birthday.

What a way to spend your birthday.

Happy Birthday Mom. I love you, too. I'll talk to you later.

Goodbye.

Being On Guard

Well, being in the position at work that I am, I am one of the major keepers of my boss's secrets. I have locked cabinets, and locked mind space. My boss has a big career. He's one of the people that gets personal invites to the Inaugural Ball and the like. I, on the other hand, have nothing of reason to guard.

What I've noticed, having this job, that it's really better the less that I know. That seems the best way to guard someone else's shit. Don't know, can't tell. I almost got caught up in this, at one time. There was a need for more money and more power, then I got hurt and had to stay home from work. You could say that it was just an accident, or you could say that it was fate guarding myself from myself. Being at home, I got back to normal in a short amount of time. That was a close one, I would say. At home, I was reading more, talking with my friends more, spending time with the family more. Oh yeah, those things.

If you are a person in power, there's so much to guard, so many plans to lay, and moves to play. And to me, it seems at the end, you don't have much person left, only the money. Green slips of paper, to mark your life by. What use is the money if you don't just spend it?

I can say, that I do not want power. I do not want to be in charge. I do not want to be that person, ever.

I was homeless for a bit. And yes, it was hard, but it also contained a certain amount of freedom. I have met a few homeless people, who are perfectly content to stay that way. There are three or four, in particular, that come to mind this morning, but the stories are too long, so perhaps just one.

Tony was a drunk. He was short in stature, with red hair with sun blond highlights, and dark thick glasses. He would always bring in stuff he "found" for money or trade. I never asked where he got anything. Yes, I probably fenced some crap, but I can't really say that, since I don't truly know. Don't ask, can't tell.

I would never just give him money. That would have been an insult, I think. Sometimes I would buy something from him, or give him an odd job. Or, I would give him money to go buy us both lunch, and if he came back and ate with me, I would then buy us both a forty of malt liquor. He would always tell me the most delightful stories about his past. Maybe they were true, maybe they weren't. I didn't care. They were a delightful way to spend an afternoon, instead of handing out tokens to perverts, jacking off.

Tony would always have his heart attacks right in front of my store, four that I was present for. It was as though he just made it every time, right in front of my work, on my shift, maybe because he knew that I would call the ambulance for him.

I did make Tony a deal. If he got cleaned up, and saved his money to get a place off the street, I would help him furnish it. He did. And I bought used appliances and used tables and chairs, a bed and a couch, and some random dishes.

I didn't see Tony for a bit. Then, as always, there was his short, red headed body, collapsing in front of my store, yet again. Some passerbyer, just stepping on his thick glasses that were lying next to his body. And as always, I called the ambulance. It would be some time before he came around again.

One day, months later, I heard the back door of the porn shop open. I turned away from the T.V. that I was watching, annoyed that a pervert would be interpreting my program right at the climax. But it wasn't a perv. There was Tony, holding something behind his back. His looked thinner, and whiter, and maybe even shorter, standing there in his dirty button down shirt and his taped black glasses. He didn't look so well. And didn't want to have lunch with me, either, he didn't have much of an appetite today, he said.

He told me that he had something to discuss with me, if I had the time. He was more serious than I had ever seen him. I asked him if he had brought something for me to buy or trade for. Not this time, he said. And asked that I let him finish first.

He said that he wanted to thank me for always making sure that the ambulance was called. And he wanted to tell me that he couldn't live in his apartment anymore, he had given it up. And he knew that I would be disappointed, but he just couldn't do it. And he said that he knew that living on the street would kill him. However, all of his friends, that had become like his family, lived on the streets. And that was just how his life was supposed to go. But, he wanted to thank me nonetheless. And he asked if I was still going to be his friend.

Of course, I said. I understood. No big deal.

And it wasn't. He was making his choices, just as all of us are allowed to do. Who am I to stop him or ask him to change, or to sacrifice his happiness for a silly society standard?

He seemed so relieved.

He brought forward what he had been holding behind his back. It was a tiny, purple, stuffed bear. Tony said that he found it when he was dumpster diving. Before he gave up his apartment, he had spent all night washing the bear with dish soap and a toothbrush. It did spell like fake lemons.

He found this and thought how it matched my hair, which was died bright purple for that time. And he said that he wanted me to have it, because girls always like bears, and he wanted to thank me, and give me something special back.

I took the bear, and Tony left. About a month later, Tony had his final heart attack in front of the porn store, on my shift. He would die, just like he imagined, and wanted.

I still have the bear. When I die, it will go in some pile to give away, with no one knowing where it came from or why I would choose to keep such a thing. The memory only mine. And no one with know that I still have the lessons that a short, drunk red headed, homeless man gave me one summer in the city.

So not so much about the secrets and the money today. Not so much.