I had intended on giving you nice, in-depth posts for every day I am back here.
Quite obviously, that hasn't happened.
Last night I cracked but it was highly contained.
My dad had dropped me off at the house and picked up his wife, stating that he would call and have me drive down to help unload a truckload of trash.
Well, come 11:30 pm and he still hadn't called. I was rather pissed because I had been looking forward to getting out of the house and was otherwise feeling rather ditched- he himself had admitted previously his intentions of ditching me.
Great.
I called N. and to diffuse my anger, talking about what was occurring and how sad it is that after all this time, no one in this family has changed their evil ways.
She wanted to be supportive, of course, but was not. She had a long day and said something that was semi-cold, spinning me off into tears. She apologized and I went sour, said I would call her tomorrow.
I was sitting in the driveway- from somewhere up the street a cat was coming down the sidewalk. I watched and wished it would come around.
It did, right after I started crying, came up the driveway, circled around my back, and finding me suitable, sat in my lap. It was very friendly.
My brother called, on behalf of my father, and said that dad and his wife were having an argument so I need to stay at the house. I said fuck him. My brother was disarmed. I said sorry, okay, thanks for calling, and hung up.
N. called back and I didn't want to talk. She suggested that I come back to California because I was pretty fucked up- well contained, but fucked up.
Then, for some damn reason I called "him" and it was appearant that he was not able or not willing to talk. I was having trouble hearing what he was saying but I was broken, emotional, soft, and sweet. Without realizing it I came through sounding, feeling much like the girl he used to adore so much.
But that conversation was brief, I just wanted to see how you are doing bla bla bla, and my tears had subsided.
He said something about continuing with messages and I said okay goodbye.
As I was trying to decifer his speech, the cat got bored of me and meandered away, batting at a bug for a while and then continuing down the street.
So at the end of this I had no company and my nose was runny.
I wiped my nose on my sleeve like a twelve year old, got my purse off the cement beside me, and went inside- back behind my sheet while the twins and one of their friends watched "School of Rock".
No misery. I wasn't miserable. There is no reason. I wasn't desperate anymore and I didn't want to cry. He sent me a message saying sorry he had to go, that there were people going to sleep in the room, etc. I said sorry I didn't know and just saying hello. He said he misses me. And I was raw because I was emotional but unwilling to make a return confession. It wasn't right.
I'm not desperate and I'm not sure its true. I slammed my head down on the bed and sighed.
What a load of shit.
My issues were over for the evening. Went into the master bedroom, closed the door, and did some writing, stupid stuff, until my parental units came home. Dad motioned for me to stay in the room and I did so, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as MB came in and out of the bathroom changing into pajamas. Finally I said that I am leaving, goodbye.
He came and sat with me for a few minutes- in the mood to share my work, I showed him "The Many Faces" collage in the final draft, card form. He cried briefly after surveying it thoroughly, saying he was sorry that I had to go through that and that he wasn't there. I dismissed both charges because I like me. I showed him other writing and... this is sad...
I really feel that I don't connect with him the majority of the time. Perhaps I expect too much.
But I think of N and D and how we communicate, how we miss sometimes but most of the time its clear and clean and connected.
I wonder what he thinks of our communication with one another. I wonder what Kristin thinks.
I don't think it matters much what Lee thinks... it has no direct effect on me, really.
I am dissapointed, dissatisfied... something, with how little we have all changed- how our whereabouts and looks and relationships might change- but we, our flaws, our habits, our lies, our manipulation, preoccupation with self.... it never changes. It is so very the same, year after year.
Lee is always witty, quick, sly, good-looking in a different sort of way but undeniably... he is always self-concerned strikingly at times... it just is.
Dad is always charming, good-looking in a very much American kind of way, motivated, charsmatic, etc. He is manipulative, easy with lies, defensive, strategic... and other traits associated with someone who wishes to protect themselves.
And I... you would not expect my confession to be honest. It would not be accurate.
I am always emotional, sentimental, anti-social, unpredictable, sarcastic, cynical, and rude- protective, defensive, out of my comfort zone.
What positives do I have to add to that? To balance this shit out. I cannot say I am good-looking, social, I have no job, I have no money, no people skills and no people, I am not charming, I am little motivated... what can I say for myself?
I have read writers who are good and know that there are many others out there. Compared to those people, I have no right to say I have talent in this area.
Nothing I do has a public benefit- I do not make people feel good.
Any humor or wit I have is often too brash for the masses, I cuss and smoke, I am a drug addict/alcoholic, I take a bunch of pills and I don't think of any of these things unless I am making a list of bad things about me.
But in spite of all that crap, I tend to believe that I am a worthwhile person, that I deserve to be alive, and that I am not doing nothing.
So shoot me. I like my privacy and I like reading- and I have difficulty reading where there is noise.
Now I am pissed off.

email at dad's work

What do you do when there is not much else to do? That is- what do you do when you are trying very hard to not make eye contact?
Ah, now that is a difficult question to answer... so many options and so little willpower. Because, really, what fun is it to always look down or up or side to side and never at anyone?
Of course, this isn't an "always" thing, just an embarrassment thing, a scared thing, a nervous thing,

This should be a post you have all been waiting for- to find out how my little trip is going and whatnot.
Here it is, while I have some time this afternoon.
4 am I get up and take a shower, go have a cigarette- N comes out walking the dog and I am half asleep. She asks if I want company and I say no because I can't carry on a conversation at the moment. Fuck.
I ask her for a second suitcase to put some of my crap in, to avoid going over the weight limit- just in case. Getting ready to leave, I snap at the dog and feel really bad. Kiss him and we are off.
Gas station for coffee beverage. Walking inside, still half-dead but talking now, I trip on a step. Very amusing- no fall, but very amusing.
Two coffee beverages and a cold ham sandwitch. Away we go.
We listen to the Dan Band (a household favorite) and laugh. I eat half my cold sandwitch- why didn't I microwave it? No matter, its not bad.
N gets in the wrong lane exiting to the airport which takes us an extra minute. During this time she says:
"You know, I haven't gotten use to the fact that you are leaving. I mean, I know I am taking you to the airport and that you are going to get on a plane to Arkansas... but I keep thinking that when I get home tonight, you will be there."
"I know, me too."
Get to the airport and it is a fucking hub. What the hell are all these people doing at 5 in the morning getting on planes and shit? Go inside to the electronic check-in: fantastic device. Get my ticket and check my two bags. We walk to the line and I, for lack of ability at successful goodbyes, quickly depart for the security line. Ugh. I keep tripping over the dude in front of me trying to make silly hand gestures to N. She convinces me to through her my lighter. I do so and hit the heels of the dude in front of me as I shuffle forward with the gravity of sleepiness.
Whatever. I go through security and wave my final goodbye to N.
Down the entire length of the building, past all the terminals and people and food places. Outside, down a flight of steps (no tripping) and out to a small separate building with 2 or 3 addition terminals. Hallogen, classroom style lighting and lots of people. Very much like a large portable at the high school I once went to.
Really there aren't too many people in there but it is busy and I can't find a nice isolated place to sit. Shit. And it is bright. Fuck. Sit down, pull out my scuba materials- too late. Starting to overheat. Fuck me. I stick it out for a minute, scan the room for bathrooms- see them across the rooms but have some doubt as to whether or not they are only for handicap... Shit fuck.
Get my crap together, out of the building, down to the main building, up the stairs, and back past the terminals and people and food, looking for bathrooms... maybe just trying to walk it off.
Find the bathrooms, hide out in a stahl and swallow two anxiety pills (proprananol, spelling is probably off) leave and go back to the very end of the main terminal. Sit down and take out my coffee drink. Fuck shit.
Call N and tell her she needs to talk to me. Walk back out, down the steps, but refuse to go into the little building. People are starting to board the Denver flight and it is a massive plane- I know that it is almost completely full. I keep dropping my book on the pavement. Shit fuck shit.
Finally start to calm down. Walk in, get in line and keep talking to N about some random and absolutely normal- aka trivial- crap.
The ramp to the plane zigzags and is pretty steep. People waiting all the way down and backed up into the building. N stays on the phone with me until the engine is too loud to hear.
Attempting to keep my newly acheived calm, I send "him" the simple message:
"Do me a favor- make me laugh real quick. please"
Line moves and we all take our seats. I got lucky- the first row in business class; no one in front of me, lots of leg room and I am feeling safe again. Flight attendent insists on taking one of my bags. Fine.
"You're in an exit row- are you willing to help me if needed?"
"Of course."
Asian dude next to me is very nice and quiet. I stand up (completely- high ceiling) and turn on my air, ask if that bothers him, it doesn't, if it does let me know, gracious nod.
Pull out scuba stuff and start on it. Plane goes in the air.
Aboout 30 minutes before our descent, I got restless with scuba, put it up and fucked with various literary material the bag still in my direct possession. Okay. Flip through air magazine- no map of the Denver Airport, which is what I wanted. Fine.
We land, flight attendent gives me my bag back, I stand up to get off and tell the man next to me, "You have been a most pleasant person to sit beside."
Get off.
Go to screens with flight information. Another passenger from Orange County informs me that I am looking at the arrivals, the departure screens are across the way. I thank him and say I would have kept staring at it for a very long time.
Over to the correct departure screens. Guess what? Too early for my flight info to be posted. Fuck shit fuck. Nonetheless I scan the screens repeatidly before calling my father to inform him.
Okay, start walking down the airport and dad finally convinces me to ask the United Dudes for help. Hang up, do that. B-57
Good. Go down to B-57 and there are still several flights departing from there before mine. I sit a terminal down on the same side, get out my scuba stuff and start reading.
They finish boarding a flight to Fargo and I hear the first two seating groups called for me flight.
Pack up my shit- I'm seating group 3- and go stand near the terminal. People go and line up.
Okay, a few minutes pass and all the people associated with my flight start leaving in mass and walking away from the terminal. Naturally, I assume there has been a change of terminals.
I appeal to a passing couple and ask if they are going to Arkansas. affirmative. Has there been a change in the flight, in terminals? they look completely confused by what I am asking. Impatience begins to creep in my voice and I explain the question. negative, no change in terminal or flight information. And then they walk off, AWAY from the terminal.
I am not convinced. So I stand there and wait, fortunately in perfect view of the departure screen which is still displaying my flight information as: B-57: ON TIME. And I stand there. Nothing changes. The screen stays the same. Fine. I sit back down and wait for seating group 3 to be called or something that would give me a purpose.
Time passes and the little desk calls "Passenger Stewart"
Purpose.
Get up, go to the desk where they inform me that everyone else has already boarded, the plane is waiting on me. What the fuck are you talking about? I didn't say that outloud.
I show my ticket and they escort me. Down to lower attached building where a lady is standing, bored, by an open door. Sound of engines. She yells:
"Are you on this flight? What's your name? Well hurry up!" and I jog down the hallway.
She escorts me, in turn, out to the airplane and I go up the little steps.
It is completely full. Small plane. Totally full. No one looks very happy with me. I can't blame them. Find the row I am sitting in and there is the older, political-type dude, kind of large, older, and mean looking. I tell him I am next to him and he, without a word but with a impressive glare stands up and let's me in.
As quickly and quietly as possible I put my shit away, turn on the air, and stare steadfast out the window. The plane takes off shortly and I condemn myself to the punishment of only looking at the crop circles for the 1:40 minute flight. Fuck.
A very dim notion came to me about finding that old couple on the flight and calling them out for not telling me what was happening. I didn't. It was squashed.

Today was as equally uneventful as its predescesor.
Differences from regular schedule: right at 4 pm I had to drive down and pick up some prescriptions- the actual paper- and I took a different route to the doctor (Evelyn's) office, got lost, and was ripping the inside of my mouth up the entire way. Ended up doing a large loop around John Wayne Airport (which I will be departing from in two days), got there and it was completely dark but the door was unlocked- found out the receptionist had been waiting on me.
Good job, Kelly. I apologized and left.
Stuck now in 5:00 traffic- on main streets, not freeways- and had to carve out a pattern of turns that would get me home quicker. This is one of the most fantastic things about having lived in California for 4 years- you get to know alternative routes and assess correctly the traffic level to find the best path to whatever your final destination may be.
That last part, final destination- I only said that because I have a flight coming up. I am corny like that.
So did that and as I was getting close to home, N calls and says something along the lines of:
"You bitch- you got through that light and I didn't," she is being playful and I am driving in rush hour so it takes me a minute to figure out what the hell she is saying.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I was two cars behind you and you got through the light and I got stopped, bitch."
"Oh okay."
I was quick to pick her brain once we were back at the house- what is it like to see me driving when I don't know anyone is watching- how was I acting.
She couldn't see me but she said that Layla was "studly" and I concurred.
There was a nice little breakdown this evening, lasting probably 1 minute, during which I stomped out on N, started crying and went back in and hugged her. I said I didn't want to leave her and she said I should really think about whether or not this trip is a good choice.
Later we went to Circuit City to pick up my father (heart on my sleeve, mother fuckers) a CD for his birthday- tomorrow- which is also mama's birthday.
Circuit City is next to Office Max so we stopped there too. Puchases were made- notebook, pens, post-it notes, etc.
Home again.
The air conditioner repair dude showed up this evening in LR. That's all there is to say about that.
My drive was long and successful. I came back feeling very peaceful. In the entire time I didn't think about going to Arkansas or TGJ or anything otherwise stressful; I didn't bite at the inside of my mouth. In addition, and just as importantly, I drove very well and was lucky with my company on the road.
So that is all good.
Tomorrow we will be finishing up errands that pertain to my trip- incidentals, shampoo, cottonballs, etc.
Random normal stuff.
LR in the afternoon... for a short while- I believe that my mum and I will take mama (and papa) out to dinner for her birthday. Or cook steak. Not sure.
I have started reading "The Journals of Sylvia Plath" and am enjoying that.
Packing is gradually occurring.
I need to get in the right mindset... this is all do-able.
Goodnight, all.

1st Day of Dread

Mark it down on your calendar- today is the first day I have thought of my trip with true dread. At the beginning of the day it was just a slight twinge every now and then. By evening it had become a prime evil.
Now, I feel very tired when I think about it- such as I felt when thinking about a particular person in the recent past.
It just weighs me down.
So I am starting to tally up all the things that I see as frightening, annoying, disturbing, etc. in the near future. Even though, for my sanity's sake, I shouldn't put such a list up here- should put it out of my mind instead- you can rest assure that I am sure as hell going to do it anyway.
Now this list will grow in the next three days. If it exhausts me nicely enough...
---
But first- my day. Ta-da! I woke up at 5 am when N came in to tell me she was leaving- after talking for a few minutes I pronounced, groggily, that I wanted cereal for breakfast. A few minutes after that I surprised her by popping up downstairs to have a bowl of cereal.
"This is what morning looks like," she said opening the door to the patio.
"I think I've heard something about that before," was the reply and then back to breakfast.
After both N and D had left, I returned to my bed because it was just fucking cold downstairs and went back to sleep for an hour.
Woke up again and watched "A Farewell to Arms" on mute.
Got up. Showered. Coffee. Fucking fantastic.
Watched CNN and commented on the headlines- London terror attacks Part II, etc.
Okay so the vast of my day was spent lolligagging around the house, going through various notebooks and extracting important- what I think is important- papers, finished burning CDs, etc.
N called and we went to lunch. It was, on the whole, successful. A few times I started to crumble in terms of controlling my body temperature.
But I have learned that I can either zone out and miss entire meals to try and keep my temperature in check or I can try and divert my attention by getting caught up in coversation.
Tell me, which do you think is better in terms of being a functional human being?
If you answered the latter, you are correct. No prizes, sorry.
More lolligagging- my father was difficult to get a hold of today which added to my dread of this trip... more on that in a minute.
The air conditioner in LR quit working and the repair dude can't come until tomorrow. Thus, fans were purchased and delivered to the residence. That was a pain in the ass.
Eventually got home.
Eventually went on drive. Long drive. Around the edge of town, freeway south, exit and get on freeway north, up up and away.
So did that and, being the dumbass I am, kicked up communication with him again.
Won't get in to all of that but for the purpose of record-keeping, the message I sent was "Point Taken."
Simply.
Ugh. Very stupid move. The last thing I need, okay not the LAST thing, is to spend another 50 messages hearing how confused he is, bla bla bla.
I am getting mean and cynical and that is a good sign. Its like a scab- its ugly and whatnot but it means that the wound is healing. I'm healing. Cynicism is my shell.
Fuck you. I know what your thinking- bad analogy, kiss my ass.
My blog.
So that was my day. I am just trying to soak in as much of this house, my truck, and cigarettes as possible- maintaining my health, to a degree- before I shuttle off on a plane and stay pulled away from my home for three weeks.
Three weeks.
---
Which leads us right back to where we started!
THINGS ABOUT THE "NEAR FUTURE"
(aka my trip)
WHICH FILL ME WITH IMPENDING DREAD:
a) Lack of communication with my father- busy man, bla bla bla, which means that when I am about to pull someone's head off, I can't count on him being available to wisk me away. I can't count on him answering his phone, having is phone, or respecting the fragile boundaries that mark my sanity.
b)
----
Let me go think and have a cigarette. I will return to you shortly.

Organizing + Communal Bathroom Beginning + Jeans

I know, I have been bad and not given you a good post in a while.
Hell, I haven't even given you a good bad post.
Well... what to say? I am getting ready to go back to Arkansas... blindly.
I just don't think about it. Purposely.
The first day I threw in TGJ and that whole thing so I wouldn't have to think about it.
By today, though, I try to think of both as little as possible. From that comment I hope you can get an idea of what goes on in that department because I don't want to say any more about it.
I am trying that whole "fake it til you make it" thing and it works pretty well, if only as avoidence behavior.
But speaking of Arkansas, I figure that making this work, at this point, is all about organization- having all my shit, knowing where all my shit is, etc.
For instance, I know that if I have the basics down I will be better able to handle the wild crap that is thrown at me.
Ei. If I can get up in the morning, take a shower, and make myself feel pretty all without major interruption then I will be good to go for the rest of the day. You see what I mean? Hygiene is a big thing for me. I don't like not being able to take a shower, wash my face, brush my teeth when I want to. It makes me feel disgusting and pisses me off. Even if it is just inconvient, that can tweak me.
I hadn't really thought about sharing a bathroom with three teenagers.
In my entire life I have not had to do that for three weeks- never went to camp, never lived in a communal tribe.
Even in rehab- every room has a bathroom so the only activity that requires mass planning is taking a shower.
Fine, no big deal.
That I can do if I can then go back to "my room" and do "my stuff" whatever that might be.
Never realized just how big into privacy I am.
The whole sleeping in the dining room, which is smack in the middle of the house, can be dealt with. I am not at all above tacking sheets up in the doorways. I can figure something out.
N suggested, oddly, that I should stay with my brother for a few nights. Although aware that he has a two-bedroom apartment, I never thought that this could be considered an option. She knows something I do not in regards to my brother, what that is exactly I don't know, and has made a few comments in the past week with implications that I not a blemish on his existence.
Interesting.
Still, I do not intend on imposing that on him.
I don't know which would be stranger: staying in step-mum's house with all the step siblings or staying with my brother.
Leave it at that.
So, organization.
Just fired off an e-mail to Kristin about my return, very brief, titled "When to Purchase Torches"
If I stay organized, in control of my own comfort, the most immediate of my own surroundings, I should be able to survive.
---
Went to get some jeans tonight. Let the lady help me. Big deal- don't usually do that.
Getting better, sometimes in weird ways. Stayed calm, walking through the mall kept telling N "keep talking to me" and she did. The mall wasn't that busy but still. Stayed calm. Tried on my jeans, got three pairs (ha, didn't think about the number until now), and left.
The trick is to keep breathing.
Like hell it is! The trick is to just do it and not think about it too much. That left the advice open for interpretation. Go ahead, stretch my words so they fit right.
---
There is still a lot of crap left to do.
You will be happy to know that I officially have all 10 discs of the Led Zeppelin Box Set- every song recorded in studio in the history of the band. I am just all warm and fuzzy inside.

So that is my story for this evening. LR was fine, everyone there is fine. No new medical conditions to be discussed.
My left ear is pretty fucked up, or getting there fast. N is attempting to make me see a doctor.
Seeing doctors is a hassle for something this trivial. If the ear drops don't work, then I'll see a doctor.
Also I don't want to hear I need to stay out of the water which would conflict with my scuba lessons. See the problem? Me too.
More CD burning because I am an asshole like that.
Dorian Gray will die tonight. I have been slacking big time... distracted. End subject.
But that is fading very quickly and I intend on picking up the pace again.
Booklist- must print it.
Okay everyone, I am done for tonight.
Wish me luck getting my shit together.
No, don't. That always backfires.
Goodnight.

There is a slight feeling in me that I may, in fact, send some rude message and get myself in a bunch of trouble... something gratifying about it. We feel the need to say something and they feel the need to say nothing. Aside that if something is wrong, shouldn't you speak up?
Something is wrong.
Am I willing to risk distance and disgust to speak my mind? Much better question. Maybe. The less I care, the more I am willing to just go at it. I am disgusted and I am about to put an assload of distance in there.
Worst thing: he defaults into saying the right thing, even if he absolutely does not mean it, to get rid of anger. So if I am going to express my anger, it will be to find satisfaction in venting, not in getting a nice, sweet, hopeful response. He will say the right thing. He won't mean a word of it.
When I write that, I have no emotion towards it. Whatever will be will be.
If that is the case... I want to speak my mind. If it is just going to fizzle down into, not even a friendship, pile of annoyances for me... I want to speak my mind.
I admire people who can stay silent, stay reserved. That isn't me. I write it and when that isn't potent enough for me, slander doesn't do the job, I will throw it on the table.
So... where is the problem? My biggest issue is not wanting to give more of myself, my emotions, than is relevant to this matter. That is the biggest issue. Keeping shit in perspective.
Because I don't want to add in, subtract out anything. It is what it is.
I am aware I will probably do this. I am not sure when.
When it has been sitting for too long.
--
It is hard for me to type this and not want to weigh the evidence of our recent camp sessions.
Good vs Bad.
Up vs Down.
Positive vs Negative.
I would like to... because I can.
I won't... because it doesn't matter.

Evening Out the Fucks.

So I am going back to Arkansas- July 25 to August 15
Three weeks.
A few hours after I get there, I will take my first scuba diving lesson. Classroom setting- up to ten other students. Not thinking about that.
Obviously going to be staying at my step-mum's. Aerobed on dining room floor. 3 weeks.
Shit.
I am pretty fucking down tonight.
My shoelaces are untied. I'm pretty fucking down tonight.
TGJ is being, shall we say, cold. This is a problem because? Good question. Because it would be nice to go back to Arkansas and feeling comfortable calling him if I need to.
I don't know- having other people around is fantastic at amplifying my isolation.
My shoelaces are untied. Tonight that gets me down.
Could go to sleep- I am probably more tired than I know.
Want to drive- maybe just sit in the bed of my truck.
Laid on the hot tub and smoked a cigarette- flat on my back. Above all else I refuse to curl up in the fetal position. Right now it seems to be a hideous thing, symbolic and disgusting.
I set out to make this post cheerful, see if I could coax myself out of myself. Nope.
Must try something else. Comedy.
Have been chewing the inside of my mouth again for the past few days. Isn't healing that quickly. Stings when I brush my teeth. Some swelling.
Fuck me. Just fuck me. This is a brand of fucked up... what's wrong with me? I do this all the time- going back to Arkansas. I get my shit together and go back to Arkansas. Some stress in the prelude, none of a horrid nature. Just nerves, conquerable, and can be beneficial.
So what the fuck? Intelligence says: all systems go.
They aren't all going. This sucks. I can deal with being alone by choice. I can't deal with being alone by force.
Oh how easy it would be to say that this is the first person I have really tried to reach out to after getting sober, bla bla bla. And it would be the truth. Because I am stronger now but I am still raw and this person, ha, I thought to rival my kindness. Like fuck.
Even the cutest (still laughing) little creature can have sharp teeth, rows of them, all prepared to chew off legs- or other body parts.
Because I am not cold. I was once. I'm not now.
Would it please fate for me to speak of my sins? They are so much more satisfying- to whom I don't know- in retrospect than they were at the time.
If I tell you one will you give me pleasant dreams tonight?
Like fuck you will. But I will tell you one anyway because I would like to, on some frequency and in some era, match coldness with coldness and bring balance to our evils.
Still laughing and now you will laugh and gasp too.
Dreamless sleep, mother fucker.
I kissed a co-worker. Once a long long time ago, at a theatre not far away (oh what fun this could be) I went to see a movie with R. I guess the male above mentioned was not working that evening. So me and R spent time frolicking with the other employees before going to the movie. One of these dudes (ha) detatched himself and accompanied us. Probably, from the quality of the memory, I was high. In fact, I am fairly sure we snuck alcohol into the theatre that evening in our purses.
Welcome to my world.
Anyway we go to see the movie. Somehow throughout the movie, the co-worker obtained information about me from R. Of course she knew precisely what to say in order to, in turn, obtain information about him and his preoccupation with me-
Is he single? Does he like me? Yes and yes, but how old am I?
Sin number one: a common sin for me- lying about my age... actually, I suppose that R lied about my age but it was with my consent. You get the point.
Finding that my age was favorable, he said yes indeed he likes me very much. Did I like him? Oh, in fact she does like you.
Did I like him, really? I doubt it. But I was high and he was cute- or I was high which made him cute. Who knows. Thrills. In fact, I don't think he was all that cute BUT he looked a lot like an ex-boyfriend I was fond of at the time.
So part way from the movie, he and I decide to go outside and have a cigarette. Who had the cigarettes? I don't fucking know! Probably me- I had the alcohol in my purse.
Go down the aisle towards the screen and out the exit in the front. He knows to prop the door open a little so we don't get locked out.
Cigarette. Somewhere in there, I don't know. We talked for a minute about my age surely and smoked... and then kissed.
Did I start it? Did I provoke him?
The first question, No. The second question, without a doubt yes.
So we kissed for a minute, bla bla bla, and that. was. it.
Went back inside and I pronounced to R that I had no interest or something to that effect.
Watched the movie, high as a kite. Left and I don't know that I ever saw the boy again.
Of course, I wanted to be the one to tell the first-mentioned-male: can you imagine the level of pissed off (my name for hurt back then) he would be to find out that I had lied about my age and kissed one of his co-workers.
Neh, I did not start it- he kissed me. He kissed me and about the age... hell, I have no clue how I explained that. No fucking clue.
But he fumed, I don't know how it translated to the second-mention-male but it THAT wasn't me problem.
My problem was being positive I kept the first male and his wonderful infatuation with me. AT ALL COSTS- as long as those costs did not interfere with my activities, legal or illegal.
Guess what? Somehow, I have no clue how, he stuck around and was still infatuated with me.
Did I feel guilty? Then, I was too high to feel anything but good and too bad to feel that most of the time. Guilt may have eaten me inside but it did not keep me from repeat offenses.
---
So maybe he is a sucker for punishment. I don't know. I probably never will.
But writing this here, now, may just keep me from doing something, saying something, really fucking stupid.
Because getting fucked by someone you have fucked already is somehow more acceptable to me.
Because getting fucked lightly in some coward way is easier when you have fucked that person hardcore in the past.
Is that sick? Fuck you.
I don't care. Its the truth. Before I was feeling sad and... hurt. Now, thanks to the infinite bitchiness of my past, I am just feeling demented and pissed off. Good.
I don't want to think of the wrongs he does to me- it makes me sad and sentimental.
I want to think of how fucking mean I was in the past- it gives me the peace of mind that I don't need to take any harsh action for at least another 5, 6 lifetimes.
That, to me, is right.
So you do the math: he is cold to me, wants nothing to do with me, cares nothing about me and does this privately.
I... am feeling less and less guilt about the wrongs I have done to him every damn second.
Thanks fate- you are making this easier on me.
I must must must think of him now as I thought of him then.
I fear my conviction will relax when I lay down to sleep.
Fuck this.
Yes, this was my first attempt, the safe attempt.
Yes, my composition of memories, his composition of memories clashed. We do not like who the other is.
Yes, for every Dr. Jeckel and Mr. Hyde I pulled then, it is coming back to me now.
Yes, he was a good person then and I fucked him.
Yes, I am a good person now and he is fucking me.
What more could you want?
AH! I would continue all night, all fucking night, writing about the sins I have committed towards him. It is a sure way to keep off nightmares. And it keeps me from pouting like a fucking baby.
I am going to go nuts. I should sleep. I refuse.
I want to go to my truck, in the back yard, wherever, to feel that this is not my everything.
I want to be goooonnnne.
And, yes, you have it from me and I will write it HUGE:
I WANT TO BE LOVED
of course, I am fucking human, I want to be loved and I want to feel worthwhile.
I want to know that there is someone who I can call when shit hits the fan. And, considering that I am going to be dealing with a bunch of teenagers, I would like someone who can match them, someone who is important to me so they don't have to be.
The last line isn't quite right but the principle is there.
I want to see that the process is not as difficult as I might think, that eventually we can all be on the same page, to feel hopeful about getting to know someone.
Yes, I want to be loved. I want someone who cares about me almost as much as I want someone to care about.
Because I am fucking good at it, I know that. I have something to give FOR ONCE, I'm not high or drunk, I'm not making shit up. I am grounded, firmly grounded, and I care about people.
Now if only it wasn't so one-sided.
Don't bring his name into this- because he is a safe object of desire, off limits, unobtainable.
This one, the one we are talking about, who is bringing to life all my little fucked up fears- he, I thought, was obtainable. I thought he had been declawed. I was mistaken.
Him: Does he make you happy or sad more often?
Me: It is not his job to make me happy. I don't ever want it to be.
Him: Is it his job to make you sad?
This is not about one person in particular, PLEASE note that.
It is about a general pattern of reactions.

I do not regret me or the pieces of me I have given away.
I regret who I have given them to.
--
Talked to dad. He and MB were going down to pick up her kids. This will be the first day in his entire life that he has been a step father.
Okay, so I just called him to check and see how shit is going. I told him that he has a daughter who loves him very much. We talked for a minute about having three kids around and the noise, bla bla bla. He is laughing and in good humor.
I told him to keep his sanity.
He said he lost that years ago.
We said we would talk tomorrow.
I said good luck.
We said goodbye.
---
I will give you a brief overview of the day in terms of TGJ:
midnight he sent me a message about cows and then said he never wants to explain.
Okay just shoot me now. I said "well thanks for the comment. there are refreshments available in the lobby on your way out".
Today I was dancing around in my room getting ready, listening to Crowded House and Counting Crows and sent "shalalalala its only natural" which he responded to with some brand of disgust and "what does that mean" or something like that. This went on, bla bla bla, he is scared and confused and the two go hand in hand. I said "not always you cynic" to which he played stupid. Fuck, maybe he is stupid. I am beginning to wonder. Asked what a cynic is and I said "someone who finds faults in everything" and he took offense, SURPRISE! Asked what he finds faults in and I said "nothing dear, you are an absolute saint and I was just kidding" and he said he was still confused. Here, smoking a cigarette in LR, I brought up the midnight message and how I am a little confused as well. He just likes cows. Okay whatever works. He named a particular type of cow he is fond of. I said you gotta do what you gotta do. He said that's nasty. I considered the many ways you can kill a relationship so that it makes fun, demented sounds as it dies painfully. I said not to be embarrassed, that we all have things we like. He said he likes llamas and suspicious sales. I wanted to say 'well follow that and you will surely find yourself a suspicious llama' but I knew this would be too confusing a joke and I just didn't have the energy to go through explaining or not explaining, bla bla bla. So I said 'what the hell'. He asked if he is making less and less sense and I, by deductive reasoning thought that the best reponse I could make would be 'hmm... I think so'. Because I promote being a dumb nice bitch in life and a smart mean bitch online. It just works better that way.
Fuck me. Just fuck me. The person that came over to my house a few days ago, that person I like. That person I can deal with, I want to deal with, I enjoy playing with. This person just exhausts me. There is no reason and knowing that the two people above mentioned are one person... makes me down about the other day.
Do you know what I mean? Want me to explain?
We all have multiple sides to our personality. That much is obvious. You can see from the above Dr. Jeckel and Mr. Hyde.
Well it is all about ratios. If I am getting Jeckel more often than Hyde, I will stick around, it would be worth it. Now if Hyde takes the majority... I have no quarter.
No, I have a quarter and the reality that I am a fucking idiot to keep 25 cents that isn't worth shit.
Ohhhh bad Kelly- that is just mean.
COME ON! My brain just isn't functioning right. I need another vacation, another conviction.
Like fuck! Get your shit together and shut up.
Yes ma'am.
Down shift. Things are different now. Looking at the past is just such a waste of time, such a source of complete confusion.
The recent post where I extended my arm for him to handcuff and thereby proved my point... Ah, I am seeing that those traits I so wanted to believe aren't true... are in fact true.
I can't tell you how I wanted to believe this to be the person I knew, even in the slightest- that he is still nice, good, would still go to the dessert with me to see the night sky, romantic by nature.
Like holding on to a fistful of sand- each grain slips through, not all at once, but at a steady pace. Then, after a while, we see what's left.
What's left?
Fuck if I know. I think I am too jaded, as a person, to sift through the remains, let alone put them into some sort of description, pattern, idea, person.
Nice. Definitely, to a fault. Supportive.
Romantic. Definitely, gently and in pleasant ways.
False. There is a nice, sound word to ponder.
False. A fact. That you see the two traits above mentioned with a sort of fond remembrance, now currently a skin, a slip cover of sorts for the truth.
And I, who I was to him then, was able to receive the above traits in full- they composed the greater part of him, the part of him that felt infatuated.
But when you have no want, no need, no desire to impress a person anymore... there is no reason to play on your best behavior, is there?
Shall I sum it all up?
The last few lines did a good job of that.
There is no want, need, or desire to impress me and thus I am... ha, I can't say it. Even if its true. Even for me that is too cruel.
I am impressed when the kicking and yelling and growling stops.
I am impressed that I am sane enough to deal with more of this (then in the past) and in a mature manner- at least in public respects.
Getting too complicated again?
Well... I wish I hadn't seen the best first- it makes the task at hand more difficult.
Do I wish that I had given my best first?
No. It would have been the same villian in the end. I was high, drunk, crazy, stealing, cheating...
And yes, I am not overlooking the perfect circle, the fantastic complete irony of my situation.
This is what you get. It is a sick joke between fate and myself.
Because not another living soul knows the extent of my sins, all of them.
He doesn't- not even of those relating to him- so he could not carry out such a perfect revenge.
Only fate and myself contain the knowledge to see this as remarkably clever a punishment.
You are wondering- what could you have possibly done wrong to him that makes you speak of fate and revenge? Even if the punishment is mild, the words themselves are strong- thus the wrongs must be strong as well.
Strong in quality, some.
Strong in quantity, quite.
COME ON! I was mean and drunk and high... so I did some bad things, yes.
Not all of it was bullshit- he was so fantastic to have around, Nicole really did like him immensely, and I was not completely heartless.
Wrongs- even writing them I can't give them accurate significance. This sucks. I want them to live here so they can die from my conscience.
I'm not going to do this. These don't matter. The past is a waste of time, at least this past, these wrongs.
I am getting my punishment.
Let fate be the only other who knows.
---
Mama and Papa are fine. N and D are fine. It has been a boring day. N and D went to see a movie and I stayed at the house to read. Another shocking ending.
---
So this is 10 pm
Dad called while I was out driving.
Asked if he caught me at a bad time. I said nope, I am on a drive, on a straight stretch all the way home so its just gas and brake.
He sniffled and said "you mean your alone? your out by yourself?"
I replied in the affirmative and that is how it always is. Now I am thinking about it... I don't think about it, when I drive, about being alone. It just is. I don't see life as divided into the two categories "alone" and "with other human being(s)" like I guess some people do.
Because I get that a lot. When I go back to Arkansas it seems that questions revolve around my socialization and how that whole thing is getting alone- boyfriend, friends, where people go on dates, what me and my buddies do for fun, etc. etc.
Which I guess means its pretty important... or, and this is more hopeful to me, talking about friends and boyfriends is the easiest subject on which to dive into other aspects of people's lives.
Thus, we start out talking about people as oppose to emotions, beliefs, and other deep crap.
So people is like the whore subject- the subject you throw out there because the high probability of a bite no matter the company.
Except, of course, me who doesn't bite and has to think quickly and make some shit up.
That would mean though that when talking to people, other people is the most trivial subject to talk about.
Ha, thus making gossip seem like such trash. Which it is, I suppose.
Back to the original thought process.
Yes, I am alone and I often forget how programmed it is to every single aspect of my life. I just do it and don't think about it- thank God- but then someone says the equivilent of "Hey, your shoelaces are untied" and I look down and say "Huh. Yes, yes they are."
How weird is a reality you know to be true only because you never think about it as being false.
I know I am alone because I know there aren't other people around.
There you have it!
I don't come across that realization getting dressed, dancing in my room, making coffee, writing on here. That is my existence. That is my reality. It just IS.
I don't pick up a book, notice my hand, and think to myself "I'm alone".
When I am a treasure, I am sure someone will someday notice.
When I am a pain in the ass, I am sure that someone is glad they don't have to deal with me.
So when someone tells me my shoelaces are untied, what can you say but... "Yea, they are. Have been for a while- around 8,000 miles actually. Thought about tieing them but, I don't know, just didn't and then I forgot. You get use to it. Guess I could tie them, I'll think about it. Thanks for telling me, though!"

Dorian Gray Quotes.

Women were better suited to bear sorrow than men. They lived on their emotions. They thought only of their emotions. When they took lovers, it was merely to have someone with whom they could have scenes.
(Disgusting truth, isn't it? It is.)

It is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion. A man who is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a pleasure. I don’t want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, enjoy them, and to dominate them.
(Much better.)

I didn’t say I liked it. I said it fascinated me. There is a great difference.

I asked the question for the best reason, possibly the only reason, indeed, that excuses one for asking any question- simple curiosity.

You used to stir my imagination. Now you don’t even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect.

It was the passions about whose origin we deceived ourselves that tyrannized most strongly over us. Our weakest motives were those of whose nature we were conscious.

It often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves.

Women defend themselves by attacking, just as they attack by sudden and strange surrenders.

The basis of optimism is sheer terror.

She behaves as if she was beautiful. Most American women do. It’s the secret of their charm.

I can stand brute force, but brute reason is quite unbearable… something unfair about it, hitting below the intellect.

Smashing Pumpkins Lyrics - Perfect.

Perfect

I know we're just like old friends
We just can't pretend
That lovers make amends
We are reasons so unreal
We can't help but feel that something has been lost

But please you know you're just like me
Next time I promise we'll be
Perfect
Perfect
Perfect strangers down the line
Lovers out of time
Memories unwind

So far I still know who you are
But now I wonder who I was...

Angel, you know it's not the end
We'll always be good friends
The letters have been sent on

So please, you always were so free
You'll see, I promise we'll be
Perfect
Perfect strangers when we meet
Strangers on the street
Lovers while we sleep

Perfect
You know this has to be
We always we're so free
We promised that we'd be
Perfect
---
I love the song but for some reason, tonight, reading the lyrics gave me the chills.
Had a strong effect on me.

Smashing Pumpkins - Zero

Zero
My reflection, dirty mirror
There's no connection to myself
I'm your lover, I'm your zero
I'm in the face of your dreams of glass
So save your prayers
For when we're really gonna need'em
Throw out your cares and fly
Wanna go for a ride?

She's the one for me
She's all I really need
Cause she's the one for me
Emptiness is loneliness, and loneliness is cleanliness
And cleanliness is godliness, and god is empty just like me
Intoxicated with the madness, I'm in love with my sadness
Bullshit fakers, enchanted kingdoms
The fashion victims chew their charcoal teeth
I never let on, that I was on a sinking ship
I never let on that I was down
You blame yourself, for what you can't ignore
You blame yourself for wanting more
She's the one for me
She's all I really need
She's the one for me
She's my one and only

(Originally the lyrics I went searching for- listen to this when I drive. Very nice. Must hear it.)
--------------------------------------

One Wedding and a Post.

Here begins a new chapter, that is sure: I have a step-mother.
I talked to my father earlier today, from mama and papa's.
He informed me that last week he and MB got a marriage license and they might, in fact, get married by their pastor this evening. I gave him my warmest congratulations and felt truly excited for him. I told him to call me later in the evening so I could give them both congratulations "in a timely fashion".
He did. Around 7 pm he called and told me that they had been married. His bride was on her cell phone next to him (in the car) so when he first tried to hand her the phone I got only the sound of her talking to someone else. Quickly he started talking again and a said I am happy for him, now he won't have to sleep on the couch anymore.
Once she got off, he handed her the phone and we talked. She introduced herself as my new step-monster and I laughed, for lack of any other reaction I suppose.
Then she asked what I had been doing. Reading. Oh (sarcastically) that sounds like fun.
I was considering, mentally, all of the worlds that are availible to a person by opening a book but only replied yes, it certainly was (sarcastically).
She told me about her job. She hates it but she got a promotion. Its difficult, she can learn it but she isn't sure she wants to. She said she wants something nice and easy.
I said, for lack of any other response, that that's why she got married.
We carried on for a while, fumbling at who should speak, and eventually I said congratulations and welcome to the family. She said thanks and gave the phone back to my father.
At that moment I stopped waving my hands around nervously and felt extreme relief. My father again was speaking and I got calmer. For the first time I considered, in one fleeting moment, the possibility of tears. It passed without culmination.
He thanked me for all the warm things I had said today, told me how much my consent means and that he loves me very much.
I said all of the things above mentioned pertaining to their union and, then, that I love him very much too. We said that we would talk tomorrow and hung up.
Then the rest of my tension fell off. My performance was over for the evening.
I began to weigh the akwardness of my short conversation with my new step mum. That, I thought but did not feel, kind of sucks.
A good beginning though- first of the kiddies to know about the wedding which speaks volumes in favor of my dad. Not because I wish to be the number one priority but that he told me in a timely fashion. Being the first, I feel, is quite timely indeed.
So today is day one.
That's all for now.

We sat on the couch, I in the corner and he near the arm.
As he toyed with the handcuffs he was saying something about women being forward, about liking to push things to the limit, about liking women to come after him. I said that wasn't true and he went on to explain.
At the end of this explanation I extended my arm in front of him, still staring straight ahead.
Limply, after a few moments, he handcuffed my wrist.
I turned to him, with my arm still in the air, and said, "tell me: what fun was that?"
With that question, I had proven my point.
----
Yesterday both the father and the friend had the best of me. I did very well and was very comfortable. I spoke and laughed with my father. The words, smiles, and emotions that both men received from me were all completely genuine. Nothing was pushed or faked.
That, despite how unguarded I was with him in particular, means I have no regrets on my actions. I am at peace with those actions because I was peaceful yesterday.
If I smiled it was true. I threw out, however briefly, my romantic notions or at least my expectations and enjoyed myself all the better.
I had fun yesterday. My father made me laugh and I like him very much. I am happy to go see him. I love him. We are quite similar.
As for TGJ, I can have none of my usual remorse at being reserved. Ha, is that ever the truth. If anything is misinterpreted, that is out of my hands. I don't think it will be. I am seeing we too are much more alike than I had originally thought. And I like him too.
In fact, I like all the people in my life. Yes, there aren't many but can you imagine the horror of not being fond of the few people I do know?

Bukowski Quote

"I've never been lonely. I've been in a room- I've felt suicidal. I've been depressed. I've felt awful- awful beyond all- but I've never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me... or that any number of people could...." - Charles Bukowski

Birthday Present Daycamp + Talked to Dad

My morning was fairly normal- got up, listened to ZZ Top, got dressed, etc.
Oh, I also made eggs over-easy and coffee.
Hurray for being functional!
Then around 12:25 pm TGJ called and said he was on his way. He was over just before 1 pm.
What do you want me to say? You want a juicy, emotional story. Well I don't think I can satisfy you this time. Juicy, perhaps, in your little twisted mind- for those of you who are twisted.
So TGJ came over and I gave him his gifts. First the Darth Vader Pez Dispenser, which he liked.
Then after ample warning that he should not take this the wrong way, I gave him the handcuffs, which he liked as well.
He thanked me and pocketed his prizes. We retired to the living room where I curled up and covered myself with a pillow. He told me about his morning- testing out the new X-Box and getting his name in the credits- and some about a concert of sorts that he attended as well as the awesome (and they are) connections he has developed at work- or while at work.
I was interested because he was earnest and open to me, no trace of malice was visible. And because he was being, what I considered, a friend I was able to find pleasure in his pleasures and awe in his awe, etc.
So this went on for a while. I asked him about his cruise and he told me about the pictures he took, what ports they stopped at, and some other entertaining stories.
But this is where you should- though probably won't- drop your jaw in complete awe: he then proceeded to ask me how I have been, what I have been up to, and when my vacation was mentioned he asked me how that was as well.
Congratulations. He did this without thinking about it. Today he thought of us as friends. Or he did at that moment.
In a moment of silence he retrieved the handcuffs and took them out. First, he stuck the keys in his mouth and gave me a serious look. Next, he played with the handcuffs for a while.
Then, fuck knows what started it, we got into an all out war. I got the first win: his left hand cuffed, with ease, in the first 20 seconds.
In various manners, he attempted to isolate my arms and capture them. This failed, no matter how hard he tried. He commented that I had gotten better.
---
Ha! That comment caught you off guard, didn't it? One must remember that we have a long history, or at least that we have known each other a long time.
A long long long time ago we had a similar war- in fact, in the room directly above where we currently fought, my old bedroom. At that time it was my handcuffs. Please remember that we have never kissed- keep things in perspective.
---
How long this went on, I have no idea, but eventually, for the sake of ending it I gave up and quietly let him take my left hand under arrest.
He said he won.
I said I had won quite a while ago.
He said he let me handcuff him.
And I knew, but didn't say, that I had done the same.
Let it be.
Some notable occurrences during our war:
He said, "My reasons are different for trying to beat you this time- last time I wanted to molest you, this time it is just a game."
He commented he chooses not to have a girlfriend. I returned that I choose not to have a boyfriend. These sentences were spoken very seriously.
---
So after that ended I went upstairs and changed shirts. Trying to contain my temperature, I walked around for a minute from the living room to the kitchen, again and again, with various items to transport.
Forgive me- I don't know what all we talked about. I know that I sat down again and he was saying something that required me to be slightly off- I looked at him only through the cover of my hair for a while.
Then I suppose I opened up again. He tortured my dog for a while and I got on to him for it. He tried different maneuvers with the handcuffs- twisting his limbs around and whatnot- for a while. He got the Pez dispenser loaded. And we talked... or he talked.
I told him I owe him five dollars for the pizza.
He said no. I said yes. He said no. I said yes.
He said he makes enough money that it doesn't bother him.
I said yes, but its not his responsibility to pay for my stuff. Period.
He said he was good at manipulation and proceeded to look at me and grovel.
I said fine to make him stop.
He gloated at his success.
I said yuck, in a nicer form.
He talked about using manipulation at work to suggest different games to consumers.
I said nothing but my expression spoke for itself in disapproval, shall we say, and he caught it immediately.
He defended the prior comment saying that it is light manipulation.
I said firmly that any manipulation that deals with other people's money is not a light manipulation.
Oh but its a better game and a five dollar difference.
To someone who is young or unemployed, five dollars can be a lot of money.
But he would always tell them the price difference and never suggest a crappy game.
Here he went into detail on having a good heart and he would never dick with a customer (my wording) for commission, that he likes people more than money.
Upon seeing him work so hard to redeem himself, I changed my expression back to a pleasant smile and quietly said "okay" or something like that. Because there is nothing worse than punishing someone for something they said- there is no point, it cannot be unsaid. It just makes a more rapid and defensive, if not bogus, stream of words come out. I just don't like it- it is a hideous kind of guilt to inflict on someone, to me on this day.
So we talked about... fuck if I know, the stuff in his wallet, some all-night laser tag thing that he said I should come to some time, the dog park, his work schedule, etc.
Random crap.
Our conversation was dissected at points of silence by a renewed handcuff war- these, however, were very temporary and nothing like the intensity of the first.
He was sure to sit close to me rather than on the opposite side of the couch, such as he normally does.
Something irked him, that's for sure. Maybe the gifts.
Towards the end of his stay, 2:40 or thereabout, we stumbled onto the regular subject of why am I so quiet.
You always ask that. Because I am contemplating.
He said something to the affect of, in the most vague terms possible, every time he sees me it renews his "interest" in me. Adding, or interjecting in the sentence I had begun (incorrectly actually) that he doesn't see me enough.
Somehow (huh) I ended up saying that the only time he has really pissed me off was: when he said my reactions do not matter.
He said that he made a generalization: that he will do as he pleases and not let anyone else's opinion influence him, that I either thought about it too much or not enough.
I should have been offended or something like that. I was not.
I said that in regards to sexual endeavors, to which the original conversation was suggesting, I consider the whole point to be about reactions or, at least, that they are of great importance.
He repeated his above explanation.
Continuing on, I said that he kicks at me, thinking I intend on changing him or attempting to do so- here, mid-sentence he said decisively "defense mechanism" and I was heard.
He said he might possibly try to make me seem unappealing as a defense mechanism, thus doing the above kicking me away and viewing me as a threat.
I said would it be easiest if I just didn't try. I DID NOT SAY THIS FOR AFFECTION OR COMPLIMENTS- IT IS A TRUE QUESTION and I was actually prepared to ask it and take action on whatever answer.
Him: what do you mean?
Me: would it be easier of I didn't message you.
He answered, in short, negative- that I should continue on.
Having worked the subject to a resolution of some sorts, I fell silent momentarily.
I apologized for bringing it up and said that its really not a big deal- because I feared that this one complaint would plague the entire afternoon, perhaps my entire existence in his mind.
He said that to him it is a big deal.
I said yea, I know but its okay. He said he is sorry for being a butthole and he just tries to convince himself I am unappealing.
The word unappealing is directly from our conversation. Interesting choice, huh?
So eventually we dropped it, most soundly, and he tried to put the handcuffs in his mouth. This didn't work. He said, very seriously to me, "If I choke, you get my car."
To which I replied, "If you choke, I am going to pull those out of your throat."
From rolling on the floor, he had acquired a collection of dog hair. We lint-brushed him off before he headed to work.
I walked him part way to his car just before 3 pm. I stood on the grass in my bare feet and he on the tarmac a good 4 inches taller than me. He apologized, again, for being a butthole and kicking me and for trying to kiss me and I stopped listening there and told him, truly, that its really okay so don't worry about it.
Was this apology sincere? To a degree. The idea is for me to believe that he likes me, still likes me, and is doing rude things in attempt to kill his attraction. That I do not buy.
I do not believe that he likes me as more than a friend, no. I believe that, when laying on my couch and staring in my eyes for 3 hours, he does want himself to believe it.
Wouldn't that be such a fantastic story? But, our romantic ideals tend to get the better of us. Yes, what a good story that would be and how false it would be as well.
But that's another story.
He thanked me for the gifts, giving me a hug and looking "earnestly into my eyes" because it would just be a fucking fantastic story.
I said I would message him later thanking him and walking back to the house I did not hear his reply.
I continued "because I'm southern".
Came back inside, changed into boxer shorts, smoked a cigarette, and called my father.
Ah my father.
This too was a fantastic conversation. He is looking at flying me back there around July 23-24.
That is soon and I was pleased. This was conveyed to him.
But even prior to that I had no intention of being rude to him or impatient with him.
I was glad to hear his voice and talk to him, both of us quite alive, about how everything is going- his house, my house, his work, my reading, his dogs, my dog, some movie and news stories, a preacher from Houston. He made me laugh, really laugh and I was so glad to talk to him again. It has been a while.
So we talked for over 30 minutes and it was very good for us both.
He has a new cell phone now- the other one died a few days ago, in case I hadn't mentioned that- so we will be back in contact now.
I can tell you I look forward to talking to him tomorrow.
And in the course of telling him what I have been up to, I didn't think to mention anything about TGJ- who had departed less than 10 minutes before.
Of this I was extremely pleased.
The interesting thing is that I am in no rush to message him, to keep things circulating.
It is what it is- though don't quote me; I might change my mind later.
Last night I was thinking that, at the end of the day, I am still the person who knows how to satisfy me best. I know that sounds wrong on here... but trust me.
Just trust me- one of the phrases a say to myself most in the mirror.
----
I must feel a piece of this out: do I believe that he likes me?
This afternoon there were plenty of opportunities for him to kiss me if he wished. Now, for his sake and the sake of a true possible attraction from him, I will say that "liking someone" cannot be measured by attempted kisses.
Right but it important to state that. Several times this afternoon he said things that went against what I thought were the truth about him, things that I called out and to which he fought a good fight but secretly consented defeat- if I may say so myself.
I believe him to be a good person. I really do- more so this afternoon than any time in the recent past. I believe that there are many contradictions... I believe if he truly liked me as more than a friend, FROM WHAT I KNEW OF HIM IN THE PAST, he would not want me to throw myself at him. Things work slowly, nicely, and sometimes akwardly.
Perhaps personally, I believe that true affection is not measured by sexual prowess, by anything sexual at all. Thus the difference, subtle at times, between sex and making love.
Not going to talk about that either.
Well what is there to talk about?
Ugh this is difficult.
I think that we both battle with romantic notions- it is easy to see why when you have such an interesting history as noted here. It is not isolated with each other, of course, but that is what is being discussed right now.
I think it is easy to say things, in the heat of the moment- God knows I do it all the time. Those things, however real they seem at the time, can often harshly contradict the truth, the moral, the real, whatever.
So as it happens, when he says on one occasion that he wanted to kiss me. Then, a few days later remarks he has never said he wanted to kiss me, there is quite possibly a contradiction there. Would you agree?
Good, let's move on.
Now, we could say that he just didn't remember. That is true. And being a woman, I could mark that admitting wanting to kiss me was not memorable enough to remember. This is true too.
But neither of those things matter. Past is past and that is the point of this splurge.
There would be something truly magnificent about ending up with that boy after all these years and romantic escapades. Its just not true.
For him, there would be something truly rewarding about finally getting the girl you once longed for so passionately (or whatever). His is much closer to reality. It is void of any personal, long-term expectations. Dead and renewed. Welcome to California.
Okay. Next.
That gives us the historical want thing.
But what about today, right now, reality?
It is hard, for me, to separate the past from the present here.
Presentl...........................
........................
-----------------------
7:17 pm
I would like to report some nice light bruising on my right wrist, an extremely small open cut on my left pointer finger, and various stratches on the back of both hands.
This sounds way sick but I like it- the bruises at least. The cut hurts like fuck when anything touches it but the bruises are pretty cool. They amuse me.
That is definitely sick.

Cleaning Beep + A Few Words on Papa

Just another day.
Out of the ordinary: got my eyebrows done, started "Picture of Dorian Gray", did preliminary cleaning on Beep...
That was something- it was so hot but I had to do it anyway. In my shorts and tank top, my hair up spent a damn good period of time vaccuming that Jeep out.
This was just getting the first layer of crap on, the easily removable stuff so next time I won't be pushing dirt around in circles.
So I was out there sweating my ass off, seriously, in this fucking Jeep, parked in the garage.
Why did I do that? Why will I do it again? Why am I adamant about making that vehicle look brand fucking new again?
Because it is Papa's. Because it was pulled behind a U-Haul from Arkansas to California. Because it is symbolic, I suppose.
We have never considered selling that Jeep, outside the family, though Papa hasn't been able to see enough to drive in a few years...
I don't know. Its his. And I know that.
I will sweat my ass off in that Jeep every fucking evening, however many evenings it takes, to scrub every last centimeter, however many times necessary to make it look brand new, to restore it to perfect health.
Its important to me. That Jeep is important to him.
---
You know, when I was writing that sentence about his eyesight... I typed, stared at, and then erased the word "blind".
Papa is, I believe, legally blind.
But I never thought about him as being "blind". I would tell you that he can't see that well, I would tell you that his eyes are kind of shitty, but the word "blind" just doesn't seem right.
Blindness is a handicap. Even when Papa can't stand up or walk by himself, can't remember what day it is, can't remember... I don't think of him as having a handicap.
He doesn't seem to me sick, diseased, debilitated, or inept no matter how compromising his situation.
I guess it would be more telling for me to say this, despite it reflecting badly on myself: I often don't grasp the seriousness of the situation because he just doesn't show how serious things really are. I see him as being kind and funny. Nobody who knows him, has known him 30 seconds, would disagree.
Grace is his nature. Sometimes, most times, I forget how remarkable it really is- the way he takes all these things in stride, he never loses his sense of humor, is never unpleasant, is never imposing. God, and the things he has to deal with- things that would reduce me to specks of anger, embarrassment, sadness.
He takes it all, everything, in stride.
Which is truly amazing.
Which I overlook with the honest comment: what did you expect? It is that natural for him, from him.

More on Robert

When Robert first starting working down in LR, N had a dream that we were having an affair of some sort. Ha, I laughed that one out thoroughly.
Still, there is not enough good I can say on his behalf.
Granted, I know next to nothing about him.
He does, upon the thought of him, require a smile without fail.
Do I muse on him? Have feelings for him?
Negative. I do not believe it possible. Age difference aside, cultural differences aside, no I do not believe I have feelings for him. Not of the flavor that would amuse you.
Muse upon him, whatever that means, possibly. Could you blame me?
Aside being nice by nature, he is also quiet which gives rise to a pleasant mystery surrounding him. He is careful with words, always attentive in regards to the needs of his employers, and kind constantly in spite of the difficulty my grandmother can be.
What do we know about him? That he has a son, a continent away, whom he adores completely. He is close with his family from what I can decifer.
He is responsive- thanking me, with true appreciation, for the card I left on his car.
No random act of kindness could be so fully repaid than by his response to that card; that he very much liked it, that it almost made him cry.
That I did it because if I were to stand in front of him, of my grandparents too, that day in that room... I would not have been able to express my thanks to the fullest extent. And still, no card could express it to the fullest either.
And driving away, hoping that it was the right car- a risky move; that could have been the last time I had a chance to speak to him. But it was the right car.
And then sitting on the couch when news came that he would be working in LR again. A sincere smile crept onto my face and refused to depart.
Then I stayed away though I knew he would be there, embarrassed, perhaps, for having imparted more than necessary.
When finally and quite by accident I entered through the backdoor only seconds prior to his leaving out the front... I was self-conscious of myself that day- I looked like crap- and it manifested itself as being aloof, unresponsive unfortunately.
I was very sorry, after he left.
---
Today, I was happy and functional.
I spoke more than usual and much was directed at him.
He responded, of course, by being pleasantly surprised and smiling more than usual.
Good that I was ready with the smile he is able to bring to me secretly- that smile was ready today and exercised in the company of its cause, for once. Good.
Even there I stop, lean back and read- unsuccessfully- and bite the inside of my mouth.
Good guy.

LR+Birthday Present Messages+ Slander by Me.

This morning I woke up and decided to go shopping.
Its Wednesday- my good, faithful readers will know what that means.
So I took my lovely shower, drank my coffee, and left the house around 11:00 am.
Just after leaving the complex I sent a message (to whom, my faithful readers can guess) saying: I have a birthday present for you, do you think it would be best if I just keep it?
Then I got on the freeway and listened to Blind Melon (lyrics will follow), curled up comfortably in my captain's seat.
Exit and retrieve a reply saying: I told you not to get me anything, what are you doing today?
waiting a stoplight I answered, in a silly fashion, that I was out of town and what is he doing tomorrow.
Then, on purpose, I left my phone in the truck and went into Cost Plus to search for more martini glasses- for dad to complete the set I started for them in April- and lotion for N.
Well, no lotion damn it. But I did get the glasses and spent a long time looking around, up and down each aisle, contemplating what possible gift I could get my father for his birthday.
I was 100% sure I wouldn't buy him another candle as a gift for as long as I live- Arkansas State Fire Department would come after me, holding me accountable for any wildfires that rage in the residential areas of Washington County.
Didn't find anything- pay for the glasses and depart. The message waited for me that he will be working all afternoon and evening, well into night, tomorrow. I told him okay, just let me know when you get curious.
Then I cranked up the Crowded House and left. He said, after a long break, he might be visiting a friend down near where I was at the time later in the day. In the comfort of an air conditioned apartment, after hugging mama and papa and showering Robert with a genuine smile, I told him to avoid the mall area 'or suffer'. He said something about working down at that mall sucks and I said sounds like it, adding he has to tell me about the cruise when I see him. He said he has lots of pictures and he will weed through them quickly 'for me'.
Are you getting bored yet? You want me to flirt, don't you? That is what you want.
Well, here it is. Sometime around 1 pm I got restless- my stomach was playing games and I fought biting the inside of my mouth. Must drive. So I left and went for a drive.
Once safely on the road again I said that sounds good and I will give him his present if he wants it.
He said I really shouldn't have gotten him anything.
I said: probably not but I did because I'm a nice girl. So too back, you can take it or not. Either way.
And I think about this time I finished driving and felt immensely better. Went back inside the apartment.
He retorted, quickly I should add: that sounded either hot or like your coming on to me.
I was in a more bashful mood, I suppose, leading me to reply in a girlish way: Oh really? I guess it did, huh? Sorry about that.
The response, you can probably guess: Do you really think I mind? Adding a *wink* for good measure.
I was reading Lolita in between messages- that might help you understand my retorts.
So with only the shy batting of eye lashes missing, I sent: Umm I don't know, maybe.
Now here I was not completely sure of what response I would get- I was walking out on a limb with my nymphet disposition.
He said, in good time, that he is very bored and 'intrigued by you' meaning me.
Digressing, I answered the safe half: I'm sorry you are bored.
Him: yes I'm sorry too. I "mississje" you.
Real problems with communicating affection, even when it is false.
Me: I guess I miss you to and all that.
And you know that at midnight last night I did think I missed him.
Him: not very convincing.
And then something about going shopping because he hates it, thus making him think of something better to do so he can quit shopping.
Right. Okay.
Me: No I mean it (you hooligan) Good luck with shopping. If your still bored at 9:30 I will be able to give you your present.
Shortly after that message my nerves got all off in LR and I departed. 3:30 pm.
My good mood, a large portion of which departed when Robert left (to be honest), was deteriorating quick.
Got home and still had no reply. Took a shower, such is what I do best.
Went to call N and let her know my status and got this message: that he will be up and probably not busy so 'lemme know when your around'.
And I called N and then promptly reported up here because the memory on my cell phone is low.
Documenting my relatively to extremely uninteresting life is important to me for some reason(s).
Now to address the question you are pondering in your little heads: do I intend on calling this evening? Haven't decided. I pride myself on being reliable- when I say I'm gonna do something that means I'm gonna do it; this is a recent development. 20 months ago it was the exact opposite- I never called people back. Ever. Rule of thumb or something like that.
Digress.
Do I intend on calling this evening- I intend on driving. My stomach will navigate me from there. Most likely... fuck if I know. At this moment I am leaning towards the negative.
I must look at what nasty, perhaps just honest, remarks I make on here about this party.
That is my evidence that I hold little true affection- such in comparison to my under-the-radar relationships with N and D that get very little spoken of, even less often do I outline them with great detail- detail which, with this party, comes off looking pretty bad.
But I will not have you believe that those I illuminate, even occasionally, with a harsh light are automatically unimportant to me- or, to point at the paragraph above, that I do not hold true affection for them.
Such a belief would be incorrect. Perhaps it is important I say this, in respects to a few people particularly.
Just because I make harsh, sometimes flat-out cruel, remarks or seem disinterested in my father or brother, particularly, that does not in the least mean that I hold a lack of affection for them. Please, please note that.
If nothing else my words should be viewed as a reflection of myself- insecurities and all- not as an accurate protrayal of the people in my life.
Perhaps if this were a public blog my guilt would be multiplied to a tangible level. However I do believe that all people have thoughts that characterize the people around them negative and positive- some even publicly display their personal, one dimensional opinions.
I put my thoughts here. Only here. For my eyes to wander over in the future. But only my eyes.
Which you can read accurately to mean: This blog should never humiliate any person other than myself- which I'm sure it does.
Nor are the things I say on here a complete view of any relationship, meaningful relationship, that I have. Often, stunningly often, I will contradict myself: I may say in one post that I dislike my father and in the next I appreciate him.
Both, at one time or another, are probably true. But in spite of any momentary quarrel that I might amplify on here, I always love him- always.
I always love him, good days I like him, most of the time I admire him, and never for any second is he not my dad- no matter what names I call him.
Never for any fraction of a second is he not my father. Possibly what father means to you is different from what it means to me.
Father is not even accurate- at the core of me, in my heart, in every moment he is my dad. For such distance and time between us, you would be astonished by how very close memories of him reside. He is my dad. I love him.
As for my brother, the situation is more complicated.
Ah, Lee, do not misinterpret- complications in my own head do not mean that I lack love.
The situation is, however, more complicated without a doubt.
He is my brother, oddly. From some aspects he just remains him, apart from any title, because the word "brother" never had the bonding power that the word "dad" has.
The benchmark for originality. Posts concerning him are created in almost unceasing ignorance- I know him very little considering how much there is to know. I am much like him in ways that are obvious- no tied to genetics but to growing up in the same environment for many years. So there is some common ground, most of which is tied to dated but still present.
This is definitely more complicated.
I like Lee. I find myself respecting his decisions, defending him in the face of opposition.
So I like him, I respect him almost always nowadays, I love him because he is my big brother.
Love is a root, a vine, that is just there because we are siblings. Respect, though, has grown and developed in the recent years, recent year.
Too much. Over an hour I have been sitting in front of this computer screen.

I have my cold mug of coffee and I will now write again.
---
What is this- a weakness in you once more? Do you believe you miss him?
No, in fact, I do not at most times of deep introspection, believe myself to miss him.
Good because I do not believe that is the case.
What, then, do you think?
I think that you are a very sexual creature...
Ha, this amuses me already. Continue, please.
I think that you are a very sexual creature, not in any relation to him necessarily. But, at times of deep, restless, and aimless longing it is easy to toss in his name as an available creature of the opposite sex- regardless of whether or not he is available to you or if you, completely absent of hormonal influence, would want him.
Yes, that is a fact. There are few other... fine, no other options. Do you believe me a creature of instinct?
That is difficult to say- it depends on whether you alude to positive or negative instinct. I think that it is negative that you will bend back upon yourself because of the want of affection. I think it is good, on the other hand... you are capable of some mighty positive things based on instinct.
More later.

New mug: the green is much more vibrant than comes across in this picture.

Pest Dude 2 + Maid Avoidance + Neurotic Racers

This morning I woke up and decided I was going to take a shower and then cook myself breakfast.
I did. Eggs. Bacon (Turkey Bacon because I don't read labels very well). Coffee in my new mug (picture will follow).
Okay well, since I am cooking bacon I can't just do a few slices (see bottom drawer of refrig.)
I was just getting the hang of it (cough) with my second pan full when the doorbell rang.
Let me paint a picture of me this particular morning: boxer shorts, black sports bra, black tank top, hair in high messed up bun still wet from shower, smelling of bacon and conditioner- nice mix for men.
So second pan full of bacon sizzling, my feeling domestically successful, CNN barking in the background about Harry Potter sales, DOORBELL.
Of course, doorbell, right.
I see my friendly, sometimes condescending ("I have a job killing bugs- what do you do with your free time?") Orkin man- outfitted in his normal attire: khaki pants, white button-up shirt with the red diamond containing "Orkin" in white letters.
Of course, Orkin, Great.
I open the door and lean back slightly while we examine each other for a split second.
"Hi, I've come to spray the house," he says- very boyish looking, amazingly so. Innocent, blonde-hair, round cheeks, cute I will say in a tee-ball, American way.
"Ah. I think we cancelled," I reply, still leaning back.
"Yea," with a possible displeased look (ha) one could say, "this is the last time."
"Well then- Go for it," with a gesture of the hand in a sweeping motion.
He says okay, smiles and nods. I close the door and continue with my turkey bacon.
Eventually, after being sure he is gone, I sit down and eat some breakfast.
Then I took my leisurely time checking my email, reading Lolita, putting up clothes, getting dressed, etc.
Why? Because today is Tuesday- the Tuesday that the maids come. After a long time considering it I decided to stay long enough to let them in and then BOLT so I would be sure to stay gone the right amount of time.
That is what I did- tried to read and wait patiently.
I heard someone on the street- the windows were open during the day- and peeked out to see the Canadian walking around our block and said "Oh Lord" unfortunately right about the time he looked up and saw me. I departed and paced, afraid he was coming by to check on all the bla bla bla pest stuff. He didn't. I sat back down.
-----
I have to tell you about the Canadian. Saturday morning, we had yet to unpack, I was sitting in the backyard having a cigarette and attempting to begin Lolita. N came out with CJ, going to walk him, stopped to talk for a minute, when some young sounding male voice started calling over the fence to her. Something to the extent of: this must be weird (it was) but the neighbors are having problems with bugs... you are too... well I work for bla bla bla pest control bla bla bla... its really thorough and we really care about our customers... you are interested... oh yes I will come around to the gate, thanks.
So N stood outside the gate, to which my back was facing. They chatted and I smoked my cigarette, not once turning around, and trying yet again to start that damn book.
He outlined the program, said they would be back in the neighborhood to spray Monday would anyone be home then?
"I will be at work but Kelly should be here, won't you Kelly?"
Without turning around or lifting my eyes, "Yea."
He continued by asking about her accent, saying he is from Canada, lives here with his wife, used to work in San Antonio but they either didn't have accents or had too much of 'em.
They talked, paperwork was conviently brought out and N went inside for her checkbook, inviting him to sit down on the patio in her absence.
He sat just about 3 feet away from me in another patio chair.
Fortunately I was done with my cigarette, so as to spare him that possible discomfort. However, unfortunately it was early in the morning and I hadn't taken a shower.
So while he occasionally tried to engage me during N's time inside, I would answer quickly with an air of aloofness, I suppose, keeping my eyes on the page in front of me as much as possible. It was not that I was disinterested, mind you. It was just that I was trying to preserve myself- I would rather be remembered, perhaps, as an asshole than as a disgustingly hideous creature.
And if I am to already be considered hideous, I might as well be an asshole.
N came back and they finished their paper signing and whatnot while I never got through a paragraph.
He got ready to leave and said goodbye to me.
As he walked out the gate, I turned in the chair to look at him and said: Goodbye. You seem like a very nice person.
That is the story of the Canadian. Whether I am hideous, an asshole, both, or neither I will never know and it will never matter. That did not change my behavior at the time though, perhaps, on seeing him and being in better hygeine, I should not have let the phrase "Oh Lord" slip from my mouth. By that, despite good intentions from our prior meeting, I think it would be accurate to label me as an asshole.
-----
Slightly after two, I heard the maids coming. Let them in, put poor CJ in the garage, and BOLTED to my truck.
I spent an hour driving. Just driving. Nothing special.
At the end of the hour I reluctantly came back home to find, surprise, they were not done yet. Fuck. Having commited myself to keeping my favorite parking place, I went in the house and out the back door, spending the next half hour they stayed in the backyard reading. Finally they left, CJ got to come in from the garage, and I did some work on here.
Got the mail- there was a silk halter top I ordered that was amusingly large on me and made my boobs look non-existence (not a far stretch). However on the whole I think it was attractive, if nothing else comfortable, and I wore it around loosely giggling for a while.
People came home, people went out to eat. People came back, people watched movie.
I drove. Yes, again- my hair still damp from the shower- tight, black three-quarter length boat-neck top that I love and hardly wear. Just because. Concealed under a sweatshirt until I was locked in my dark truck. Then I drove, tossled my hair, and drove.
Nothing special. Some fairly neurotic drivers this evening.
Took freeway down and then one of my favorite streets- 55 mph main street, straight through town- back home.
On that main street: just after I got off the freeway
Two small cars- number one and two lanes- were racing from stoplight to stoplight. Even when it was just me- number three lane- and one of the little cars, he still felt the need to display he power and zoomed off to the next light. I smiled and shook my head, saying aloud: I drive a ton-and-a-half pickup truck. I play with people my own size.
Then on that street, close to home:
The much less amusing story of an old-ass minivan who refused to go anything more than 10 miles below the speed limit and then, damn it, wouldn't move forward at a redlight to let me turn. AHHHHH. I am pretty patient in my driving, though not in my inner monologue.
So there that was.
Then on some big old mercedes sedan slid up my tailpipe, getting in the gate when I opened it, and rather displeased at my crawling 20 mph in a 10 mph zone. Daringly- that is my real driving problem- I tapped the brakes. This did not phase him at all. He turned off, in dramatic form, a few streets before I.
Got home. Bla bla bla.
Ended up here. Now I will get you some pictures. GOOD NIGHT.

Saga of the Ford Emblem

Let me refresh your memory on the beginning of this Ford emblem saga:
My dearest daddy bought and sent me a billet grille for my beautiful truck.
When I tried (in vain) to put the grille on- over the existing one- I found that it did not sit far enough back due to the Ford emblem.
Thus, we removed the Ford emblem and tried again- still, the grille was not sitting securely. After giving up on the billet grille, the Ford emblem was clumsily reattached with hot glue.
This arrangement worked... for a while. One day, getting out of my truck in LR, I saw that at some point the emblem had fallen off and, after searching the ground both there and back at the house, I pronounced it lost. It was.
We laughed: after trying with so many different tools to pry that thing off, I was actually displeased when it, on its own accord, dissapeared.
That, my friends, is the story of my damn life.
So I call up my daddy dearest and tell him I need a new emblem. He says okay.
As his usual busy self, he delays and delays. And delays.
Finally, I went back in April and he had not only ordered it, but it was already sitting on his desk for my approval (or whatnot). I surveyed it and, at the last minute, he decided he would send it to me along with the other crap in his house he wanted to get rid of.
I left my new Ford emblem, in its box, on his desk.
Well quite some time passed... delay, delay, delay.
Finally, I get my boxes full of stuff- Simone, camera equipment, stuffed animals...
No emblem. Damn.
I tell daddy dearest and he says 'oh yes, I forgot, its here on my desk. I will send it right away'.
Famous last words: delay, delay, delay.
Finally 2 weeks ago he says: sent it.
I say great.
Week passes, it doesn't come.
He checks and reports there was a delay (sigh) in sending it. Its on its way now.
Fine. Whatever.
Well the first week of July rolls around and I go to Sonoma County.
Guess what?
He sent the damn emblem alright.
It was delivered by UPS to my house, left on the front porch, on July 5th.
You will kindly recall that July 5th I was in San Francisco- even more exactly, I was at the Exploratorium looking at optical illusions and in Ghiradelli Square eating free chocolate.
Well, my little late Ford emblem was sitting in its little white box on my little front porch that day, yawning with boredom and waiting for me to come home and claim it.
Guess what happened next?
Sometime between noon on July 5th and 10 pm on July 8th, that little white box dissapeared off my little front porch.
I reported to my father that the package never came.
He reported back that it sure as hell did (in kinder words) and gave me the tracking number.
Yes, it sure as hell did. And it sure as hell went missing.
After checking with the neighbor who would have probably picked it up for safe keeping in our absence and finding that she had not picked up any of our packages, I was led to be pissed off.
What a fucking idiot.
So I, in my head, composed the following scenario:
I get a little cardboard box, put a Sharper Image label on it, leave it on the front porch just like UPS would- with the welcome mat dumbly attempting to conceal it- And. Just. Wait.
Juuust wait. Let them pick it up.
Inside, wrapped in bubble wrap, would be simply a little note that said the following: Congratulations on stealing a Ford emblem- I am sure it is priceless.
That's it.
But being the timid temptress, I will probably not do that.
The UPS dude is supposed to come sometime in the next two days, bringing bunches of paperwork to fill out, then repaying my father for the lost emblem.
I don't want UPS to pay my daddy dearest- what sense does that make?
A signature was not required, they did exactly what they were supposed to do, and from that point I don't feel they are responsible for the fact that the package went bye bye.
But from that point you can make the short, unspoken leap on my true feelings about the matter: UPS is not who should be paying.
You can figure out, with whatever level of "vindictive" you want to apply, my true. little. feelings. about the situation.
That, my friends, is the saga of the Ford emblem.
Daddy dearest says, in E-mail because his cell phone died (sigh), that he will get me another emblem and I can take it back with me on the plane when I come in soon- he says this in the sort of "wink wink, when I fly you in here soon" kind of way that, at this point, is just words that will be followed, no doubt, by delays delays delays, until my summer is gone and I am dreadfully lagging.

Electric Fishing Wire, I suppose.

Something has got me strung. Not any one person or even any one thing.
Some combination of things, perhaps only hormones and chemicals in my body, has me strung like an electric wire at this moment.
My stomach is all up like I am free falling. My brain is in some other stratosphere, calculating the stunning dimensions of my independence, freedom, I'm not sure what it is contemplating.
My mouth, my throat is anticipating water, wanting in a heightened way to be quenched.
My mind, not so bounded by conventional thoughts as my brain, though that is a difficult arrangement to explain- somehow, I think the reader can grasp what I mean, why my brain and mind are almost separate entities, crossing over each other's footwork an infinite amount of times each moment.
Right, sorry- my mind is elated, as delightfully willing to receive now as my mouth is to receive water. I'm not sure what my mind is wanting to receive.
I doubt there is any particular about it. I am able and light.
Ah, I know you reader after 323 posts- you think I am being too vague.
What in the hell are you talking about, Kel?
I haven't a good, viable clue to present you with.
It is simply I am feeling... heightened.
There is no cause and it is oh so fleeting, I am sure.
Yes, to consider merely driving is difficult for me to consume. There is some appetite for different this evening.
Put it is not a pain, a stab, a hurt. It is not a hot sword.
It is electric, that I know. Centrally located, it seems, just below my breastbone. A loop around the nerves inside, invisibly pulling me, as a whole, out somewhere.
I wish to preserve it with whatever music and location it pulls towards.
I will write again later.
I am elated.

Writing from Windsor: 7/7/05 Winning Isn't Rewarding

I try to imagine a confession of emotions that show someone is partial to me. I question how I would react. No doubt, if the object of an escapade is won, my want for that object would probably fade quite swiftly. That is, you never know that you don't want something until you have it. The maids are coming today and I thought of calling him to arrange giving him his present around 2 pm. This, I decided, was a horrible idea and I will not do such a compromising thing. It is as everyone has suggested- that there just isn't any better option at this moment, my dull quarter remains important. Not so much, I suppose, because I went to N. California with the mission of obtaining a conviction from myself on a responsible course of action. I wrote by hand, in short, my thoughts on wanting affection- those pages will be recorded here presently (see below).

=================
I need to write about this, maybe to resolution, maybe just to elaborate on later.
Either way, once I get back home, I will copy this (probably) to my blog.
---
I am still relatively ignorant as to why I feel the need to succumb to my emotions... that isn't quite right.
Let's try again.
I am baffled why I would, in the "heat of the moment" let's say, get myself into a situation, relationship perhaps, that I truly, at the honest core of myself, do not want or am unable to sustain. How can I so easily forget who I am, ignore what I want... it is just... stunning.
I see a person and mold myself into a compatible form. If this works, anything that follows is false- the relationship is fated, I turn on myself and implode, at best.
Its not fair to the other party, of course.
That isn't what this is about though.
What about me? To undermine my self-worth like that, to waste time in such a manner, to fill up time bouncing back and forward between who I am and who I want you to believe I am.
So what in my creates this response to human contact, that knocks my sense of self across the floor, into the darkness?
I toy with some similar but very different ideas.
Desperation? Fear of being alone? Want of experience? Want of affection, what of emotion, want to possess- characteristics or person- power?
I don't know. I don't know why when the situation is as clear as:
"I really don't think I like him at all,"
somehow my mind gets clouded, that key fact can be deluded or completely ignored...
For what? Why?
Because my conviction is swayed (or so it seems) and my judgment impaired when I hear:
"Your pretty" or "You're great" or the like.
And though these are compliments, yes yes, of course, and though they are oh so nice to receive...
Bitter sweet, isn't it?
Because for the few compliments, condolenscenes, and connection, all of the good goes to the person he believes you to be.
Wait- don't get caught up completely in the "he" and "I".
The basic idea remains strong...
My want for companionship... neh, that is little valid either and takes us away from the problem.
My want to feel attractive, passion, power, affection, much less noble than the want for companionship, true, but these are hat I think I want... yes those are what I want.
Oh and saying and recognizing it is an unappealing part of myself, huh?
Those wants are brought to life by acting the part, rash action, growing expectations, and tempting both parties involved.
It is being countered, more strongly all the time, by the part of my that wants the truth, a connection, strength for myself, the ability to believe (perhaps) in the worth of me, apart from all others: what do I really want? What will I want a month from now? What could I do now (a lengthy list) that would bring me shame in a month?
Isn't that a vast problem alone?
Oh, the things I did a month ago which require me to roll my eyes, sigh, and shrug with... the sudden weight of stupidity attached to such thoughts, words, motions, feelings that seemed so valid (cough) at the time.
I do not want to roll my eyes and sigh and shrug- not over thing that flaunt my insecurities, my fears, my rash and stupid decisions to gain immediate gratification.
Let me lay out my case... scratch that though.
So... security? Self-confidence? Meditation? Pride in controlled doses?
Confidence, for sure, because some days when it is vacant, the lack cripples me with withdrawl- I shake, I sweat, I hide in my house, wrapped in a clear awareness that these reactions are ridiculous.
Interesting: scratch that thought about opposites.
Well there- I will elaborate more another time. Writing this all out takes a very long time.
Well worth it anyweay.
Goodnight.
-K

Pest Dude + Library Run + LR again + Timid Temptress

Before I continue with my vacation stories, I will tell you what all I did today.
This will be brief.
---
I got up this morning, unwillingly, under the pretenses that our new pest control dude would be showing up to spray the house. It was just turning 9 am.
After smoking (of course), I assessed the time frame at hand- just enough time, I hoped, to take a shower before the pest dude was expected to show up.
Did that. Silently and swiftly put on my clothes, a clean version of my pajamas, and went downstairs. Started getting back into Lolita when N called and told me I shouldn't be holding up my life just because I am expecting the pest dude. Fine, I say, and step outside to smoke a cigarette. Just less than half-way through this, and quite a bit back into my enthrallment with Humbert Humbert, I heard a vehicle stop in the street somewhere outside the house.
Fuck me, you have to be kidding. I step up on the plastic steps to the hot tub, across the white fence, and there the fucking pest control truck is, still running with the dude in there checking the paperwork.
I step down and repeat "of course. fuck me." as I put out my cigarette with haste. Gather up my crap, go inside, put on a sweatshirt, spray myself (politeness), and wash my hands. Still no pest dude. He is still raking through the paperwork so I, for lack of any other amusement to keep me in the downstairs portion of the house, try to call TGJ and wish him a happy birthday.
No answer. I get his juvenille (forgive me) voicemail message that only compounded the feeling of infinite detatchment I began to cement during my time in Windsor.
Put down the phone and sit on the stairs, waiting for the doorbell to ring. It did and the dog barked, pleasing me greatly- I have embarked on a journey to constantly adore my dog, despite my general level of indifference I shed on him during our many daytime hours together. That was previously- now I am kind to him, day in and day out.
The guy seemed nice and I told him to start spraying inside and let me know when he is done. Then I settled in the backyard with my big brown dog and Humbert Humbert for a while.
So what does a good pest control dude do? He pops his head over the fence as silently as possible and, thereby, scares the shit out of me when he starts talking like I should know he is there.
I fucking jumped like an idiot and then thanked him (what the hell?) and went inside to read.
He finished spraying the house and informed me of this. Then left.
Feeling okay about myself, I went upstairs and put on ZZ Top. Then Golden Earring. Then Steve Miller Band. Meanwhile I started laundry and folded clothes, etc.
Oh, and I danced around like a little idiot, trotted around in my shorts across the landing back and forward carrying random items from one room to another.
And then I was dressed and ready to do something, what thing I do not know.
Somewhere about 12 I devised a plan and departed from the house, off to LR to the library and then to go present shopping.
I called N while I locked up, shouting loudly into the phone about my missing ford emblem while passing the neighbor's houses (you will love that story).
Off and away. Drove down, successfully, to the library and got myself a whole arm full of books. Back in the truck- traffic was pretty bad so I decided to abort from the present shopping.
What shopping are you presenting for, miss? My father. His birthday is coming up rather quickly, the same day as my mama's. Thus, I must be prepared two-fold and in a hurry.
Obviously, that will be saved for another day- tomorrow I presume.
On the way back, stuck in traffic I messaged TGJ simply saying: calling to wish you a happy birthday, have a good day, talk to you later.
No puncuation, actually. And I had, still have, no intention of trying to call again in the near or distant future. Fuck 'em.
Close to home, still on the freeway, I saw R's father's truck- unmistakable- and thought for a moment of what would arise from him seeing me as well. No, short-lived idea. The thought stole me for a moment- a false start into another lane too early, very briefly, though enough to appear erratic or careless. I got my brain fully functioning again, took two lanes to my right, and got off at the next exit. Surface streets the way home. Fine with me.
Drove home, laid all the books out on the living room floor to pick the one I would start with: Great Expectations, Charles Dickens.
That didn't last long. But I got through a bit of it- starting from where I stopped the last bit I tried to read a few months ago.
So shoot me. I don't like Pip. I'm a heartless bitch.
Today it didn't catch my fancy. I was already missing Humbert in all his sickness.
Read for a while before starting to reread my lovely little blog here.
Then with a quick start, I decided to go back to LR to visit with mama and papa.
Off and away.
Traffic was slow going for awhile on the freeway but shortly after 5 pm I made my way back to LR once again. Got all my shit together and went inside. They were just finishing supper. We had a cigarette, talked about a hotel in Florida and a resturant in Little Rock. Then we talked about Boston- stories I have heard a hundred times (only slightly exaggerating) and they amuse me not an ounce less.
I stayed for over an hour, until I became uncomfortably conscious of my own presence, my mouth unsure of how to be set without trembling.
Then I left and trembled in my truck while I drove home. For the first part, at least, I began to think of myself as a timid temptress. Ha, whatever that means. Looking at boys in trucks while I, in my own, probably appearing proud or just plain odd, I am trembling and timid.
Whatever. I drove home and, with the windows open and blinds titled protectively, I shed my clothes and took a shower. A bold step for such a timid temptress.
Soon after, N came home. D was taking some people out to dinner. I talked to N while she ate. Then we talked while she drove to the gas station. Then we talked as I smoked a cigarette. Then she talked while the sky grew dark as we sat in the backyard.
With N, even after an hour of talking, my mouth never trembles, I never crumble into a million tiny fragments of myself that require constant molding to remain a functional human being.
I went on my drive. Got back.
D finally came home and I appeared to join in the conversation in spots while heating and eating fishsticks. Then upstairs to read or, crap, I don't know.
So that is about how I ended up writing this. Now I am tired and this has taken me almost an hour to do.
Silly little timid temptress.
I really like that title.
Hmm...
---
Tomorrow:
Must finish vacation post.
Get experiment outline and other crap prepared for AR departure (still unknown when).
Maids come again- that means house evacuation for the afternoon.
That's all for now.

Vacation...

I know you want to know (actually probably not) all about my little vacation.
And I am trying to decide, even at this very moment, whether I will write about it now or save it for some other time.
N, D, and I drove up to the San Francisco area in the red Eep.
Started out early in the morning, long before it was even light and we all got up and ready, toted all our bags downstairs, and prepared to head out. We went by McDonald's because I convinced myself, and then them, that I was hungry. It was closed. We headed onto the pretty much desserted freeway, getting a few miles before realizing that D had left his insulin at the house. We went back, grabbed the insulin, and drove back through McDonald's. Hurray! It was open.
Then the freeway. No coffee thus far in the morning. A little after 5 am we all decided that we were officially on vacation, flying down the freeway... or up the freeway more accurately.
D took the first leg of driving. In mid-morning we stopped at a gas station where I picked up some coffee and switched drivers. My turn. I drove for a few hours and then he took back over. N did very little driving on the way up and a bunch of sleeping.
We made good time in the morning but traffic got bad for quite a while in the early afternoon.
I was in the backseat when we entered Oakland, giving me the perfect though quite bumpy vantage point to gawk out the window. I liked Oakland or at least the portions I saw, mainly for the architecture- not particularly stunning but I liked it anyway for some reason.
Then, BAM, there was water and a foggy view of the larger buildings in San Francisco across the bay. I gawked, yes and admitted I was on vacation.
We took the San Raphael bridge across the bay and avoided the mass of San Fran for the day, heading up to Windsor, 60 miles north.
From the expansive concrete and water and buildings... we headed north into the exact California replica of a Kansas highway. Small town America kind of stuff- well, smaller town considering what we just passed.
So we drive and get to Windsor, get the keys to the condo and head that general direction. The condo is beautiful, my favorite of all the places we have stayed, and I am just bubbling with excitement. My room with my bed, my sink, my shower with two shower heads. It was very nice and we were all happy.
Immediately we all unpacked. Then I believe we set out to find a grocery store and blockbuster. These errands, trial and error driving method, were successful. Got an assload of movies and then groceries and then got back to our condo.
Unpacked all of that crap... here I get a little hazy.
I am pretty sure that when dinner came up for discussion I said I would just eat at the condo, then skipping off to take a shower.
I had never taken a shower with two shower heads. I don't have much to say about it- of course its nice but it used up the hot water really fast. Thus, I only did this once during our week stay.
Hot water and one shower head > Cold water from two shower heads.
Anyway, so I wrapped myself in the complimentory-but-don't-take-it-home bathrobe and was thoroughly amused. Simple things, simple things.
Later I believe we watched one movie that was not memorable and started 2001: Space Odyssey before D got tired and went to bed, shortly followed by N.
I watched CNN or read or both and then went to sleep in a remarkably comfortable and very large bed.
This ends Friday night, our first night in N. California.
----
Saturday:
I had set my alarm clock (also known as my cell phone) for way-damn-early in the morning to get up and going before the rest of my party. I was a success in getting up and drinking a glass of water in the kitchen- where I found a wide-eyed D playing on the laptop with the TV blaring silently in the background.
Then I went back to bed. Later on, once we all got up and ready, we went to the charming downtown windsor. Cute little shops, antique stores and such, a store devoted to teddy bears, an awesome candy store, bla bla bla.
First though we found a resturant to eat at- Lupe's mexican food. Good nachos. Then we ran around and did some shopping- N got a teddy bear that she immediately named Windsor, though the tag on his ear said Buck.
If I remember correctly, after cruising all of the stores there we eventually headed to Healdsburg which was supposed to have a charming downtown as well, very artsy so it said.
We got in the car and drove up to Healdsburg. Yes, there was a downtown and yes, it was nice. Parking was a bitch and the heat was kicking up. We went in one store where D got directions to the wineries nearby. N got a bar of "soap in a sweater" that was pretty nifty and smells like coconut. Nice.
So we leave there and because its already late afternoon and really fucking hot. And drive down for a long ass time just staring at the rows of grapes all along the hills throughout the countryside. Very pretty.
The store lady had told us that Ferrari-Carano Winery was the "Las Vegas of Wineries". Thus, that was the winery we chose to go to. It was way the fuck down the road and took a while to get there.
By that point, outside it was just plain damn hot. Me being the idiot that I am, assuming that we would be in San Francisco where it was nice and cool, I did not pack any shorts or otherwise comfortable summer-type clothing. Great job, Kel.
We get to the winery and have to walk up this hill, through a portion of the garden, in order to reach the house. N and D were very careful to keep an eye on me, making sure that being near that much alcohol didn't make me uncomfortable.
They constantly said: If you want to leave, just say so and we will leave, okay?
Okay.
We got through the garden, passing a warthog fountain that just made me crack up- what a thing to have outside such a mansion. Ha, a drunk looking warthog spurting water, a plain sloshed pig, in front of the medditeranean estate. From there, I figured at least I was not the only alcoholic on the premises.
So we go to the railing overlooking the rows of grapes for acres on acres. We ooohhh and ahhhh appropriately, turning our attention to the lovely pool where we follow the same line of commentary, and then we headed into the house.
Gift shop, massive of course, with a wine tasting bar at the far end.
I commented to N and D: even in the most sophisticated of settings, one still must belly up to the bar. The concurred.
We browsed around the, of course, over priced palace gift shop and then headed downstairs. Much cooler down there with bars floor to ceiling protecting the precious barrells of wine. Another bar was at the far end. You descend the stairs and come into a room- the walls of either side are declared by barred gates, floor to ceiling, that allow you to see the extensive storage areas full of barrells just past, ooohhh-ing and ahhh-ing without getting close enough to disturb the prized possessions. Again, a bar at the end of the room with yet more people bellying up to the bar.
We did the whole staring at barrells thing for about ten minutes and then decided to get the hell out of there. I drove us back to town and then back to the condo. I can't remember where we ate that night- it could have been at Western Boots. Anyway, we finished watching 2001- I ranted about the underlying meaning, waving an unlit cigarette around in the air for emphasis.
Then I took a shower, did some reading, watched CNN, and went to sleep.
-----
Sunday:
I can't really fucking remember how all this went down, the days and whatnot. Sorry about that. I believe that on this day we packed our shit up early and went to Ft. Bragg. Now let me tell you that Ft. Bragg is not a stone's throw away. It was a long ass drive: over 100 miles.
D drove us up the 101 to the 128. From there I drove most of the way through the twisted, dangerous road up into the Redwoods. We stopped to take the pictures you see below- of the canopy and me hugging the tree.
The redwoods are very beautiful, very old, and very big. Some are not as thick as others but most are very tall.
N took over driving after our little stop and took us to PCH and then north to Ft. Bragg. It was very pretty and definitely Northern California. The temperature dropped greatly the further up we got.
Stopped for lunch at some local place then drove up PCH to where it joins up with the 101, taking the 101 south back down to Windsor. Exhausting drive. Again, I can't remember where we ate dinner some place, probably back in Healdsburg. Later in the evening I was on a real bitchfest, totally shut down, PMSing like a mother fucker. N and D took it all in stride. Amazing really.
The town of Windsor was putting on their firework show that night (don't ask me why on the 3rd). They decided to go see the fireworks and I declined sharply an invitation to join them. They left and I bordered on tears, cried a little, and then wrote the following, brief, entry:
"The concept of loneliness... is fairly inadequate to descrive something self-induced.
Not off to a good start, are we?
I feel to myself, in this bed in Northern California, that I am lonely. Seeing as my situation is entirely self-induced, is it really air to claim that? Probably not.
The fighter in me (ha) says FIX IT, BE YOUR OWN CURE IF YOU ARE YOUR OWN DISEASE! EMERGE, MOTHER FUCKER!
And she is now, after all this time, the majority of my being. Thus, she will have the last word.
Goodbye."
Then, quietly and quickly, I slid out of bed and into my jeans, put on my sweatshirt and wiped my eyes, grabbed my cell phone and prepared to go off in search of N and D.
But then, before I had a chance to get my room key, N came back inside with a single magnolia which she then gave to me.
I told her I was about to come find her.
She said I never would have, that they found a beautiful garden across the way and down a path, that the fireworks hadn't started yet, and that D had found an excellent viewpoint (he thought) where they were going to watch.
I said I would come and put the magnolia in my hair. We went around to where D was, climbing the stairs and waited. The show was said to start at "dusk" and it was around 9 pm. No fireworks- one or two spouted up with about 10 minutes between them. After a long period of waiting we went back to the condo. There we heard the show start and went up to the third floor, standing next to another group, to watch the fireworks.
You can't really describe fireworks and I don't intend on trying. But a woman on the first story, who had her blinds tilted upward, was undressing for all on the third story to see. I don't think anyone else noticed. The next day, walking past her window to the car, I noticed the blinds had been tilted downward. Smart woman.
---
Monday: The Forth of July. After eating at Chubby's Diner, we went back to downtown Healdsburg. Many of the shops were closed but we went in all of the interesting ones that were open: D said 'the places with minions working on holidays'.
At first, being early, there were very few people. 1/4 of the way around the square, there was undeniably a large quantity of people, seemingly springing up from the cement. I began to panic in a bookstore but, by keeping myself silent and walking out to the sidewalk, it eventually passed.
Last thing before we left- went into some antique shops. Going through those I had that same sensation in my stomach that I have when I look at books in stores or libraries, or even my own house- like I am tinkering on the brink of an entire world previously unknown to me... I don't really know what the feeling is caused by or what it means. Imagine that. I don't think anything was open for dinner- probably we drove around some place and watched movies.
I know that late in the evening I requested a drive, N accompanied me so that I wouldn't get lost... alone. We had a made fit of giggling about dialects and drove through Santa Rosa chasing after some magnificent fireworks. Eventually we got on the 101 and headed back to Windsor.
And then I showered, watched TV, and went to bed, surely.
---
Tuesday:
Our first day in San Francisco.
By 9 am we were all dressed and ready to roll. I chugged some coffee drinks while N drove to some little seaside town. The plan was to leave the Jeep and take the ferry across to San Fran.
This plan got fucked up. Firstly, we had doubts that a ferry even went to San Fran from this location- one went to Angels Island but even that dock looked desserted.
Great. So we walked back to the car in the cold, got ready to leave, and while paying to get out of the parking lot, we were told that the ferry did in fact run there.
Get out of the car and back into the cold, walk down to the dock again and, after a little searching, find a schedule for the "Blue and Gold Fleet" or something like that.
Finding that it was really cold and the next boarding wouldn't be for over an hour, we decided to just drive it.
Good move. After going over the enchanting (I suppose) Golden Gate Bridge, we went first to the Exploratorium.
I won't lie to you- it didn't start out looking promising; there were bunches of kids on field trips and I was not enthused. Once in line, though, it didn't seem to crowded. For the first little bit it wasn't too bad. By lunch, however, it was flat out hell. Having not had breakfast with N and D, I ate at the "little" cafe. My favorite thing in the world- eating in public with many many people looking on me (paranoia) like one of the science exhibits. Bla.
That took up the first half of the day- big place. I tried to get my shit together, walked around alone a lot, still a large quantity of bitch left in me from the night before.
Leaving there we went to Ghirardelli Square where, in a crowded and more tightly packed diner, N and D ate while I zoned out completely. We went in all the shops, buying something for mama and papa, and lastly getting chocolate.
Again, there isn't much to say, from me at least, about this little adventure. What to think... there was a very entertaining hat store that we all played in for a while. There was a bookstore where I got "1,001 Symbols" and N got a book of post cards. And a bunch of other places around there that took up the an hour or two in the afternoon.
Then, seeing the time and wishing to beat traffic, back up to Windsor we went. In the evening N got her nails done and we both got haircuts. I froze up her Palm and felt pretty bad about it. All was not a loss and it was reset without being wiped out.
Later we went to Bear's Brewery (Healdsburg, imagine that!) where, once again, I zoned out for almost the entire meal, except the time it took me to consume my Shrimp Cocktail and whatever I was drinking- Lemonade, I believe. Towards the end I opened up a bit and back at the condo we watched one of the last movies still not viewed.
Shower. TV. Sleep.
---
Wednesday:
I developed the morning routine of getting up and showering before anyone else, going out in my pajamas then and having the morning cigarette while drinking my coffee beverage, and then finishing the "get ready" process by drying my hair and getting dressed. By the end of the hair drying and body dressing, both N and D had a chance to get ready. Thus, we all were ready to leave at the same time.
This morning was different. Routine same, girl different.
While waiting for D to finish getting dressed, I could hardly keep myself awake. Sitting on the couch- already having quite a bit of coffee, I was exhausted.
In the car I ate breakfast merely to have something occupying myself that required me to remain conscious. It worked. I can't remember if I was awake on the drive into San Fran.
Fishermen's Wharf was the destination. On the walk from the parking garage to the wharf, the sun was blaring, requiring me to squint and, thus, barely keep myself going against the sleepy feeling. Then, after a few shops, I said we absolutely had to get coffee, which we did, and which I thought momentarily did some good. We went into a bunch more shops, all of which were interesting. N and D requeted lunch, during which I struggled like a mother fucker to stay awake. That day was hard. I was the walking dead. Nice waitress, very talkative. Dead girl, refill the lemonade.
We left and I was slightly better again- more shops, bought some shirts and sweatshirts, as well as a birthday gift (ha) for TGJ which I am not sure I will ever give him. My conviction had hardened to pretty solid by that day, even though I was processing on the minimal amount of brain power which can sometimes undermine my better judgment.
Through the shops and then had to walk back to the car- God, I swear they moved it further away while we were at the wharf. It seemed like forever and I was getting heavier again by then.
N drove, so very bravely, around San Fran so we could do some sight seeing without any walking. As soon as she could take no more of the idiotic city driving and I could take no more sitting up straight, we left for Windsor and I, in the backseat, slept like a baby the entire way.
Once there I limped half-revived, still tired by body rather than mind, into my big bed and finished reading Death, Be Not Proud or some book.
I requested Lupe's for dinner (something I had been suggesting every evening since we first ate there) and ordered my "Super Nachos, Shredded Chicken, Extra Sour Cream" for pick-up.
With me curled up like a ball in the passenger seat, N got us successfully to Lupe's and back.
Hurray! I ate my nachos all happy, returned to my bed, and worked on a timeline for the Johnny Gunther in Death, Be Not Proud.
Welcome to my vacation.
N and D went out to dinner at Hunter's Steakhouse. I went to sleep early.
---
Thursday:
Perhaps this was everyone's favorite day. We drove down to San Jose to the Winchester Mystery House, stopping at Carl's Jr. for breakfast. Early as it was, the Mystery House was crowded and I sighed, plopped down on a bench, and zoned out. Once we got into the house that all changed. The tour was quick- over 100 rooms in 60 minutes, I think. But well worth it. I really liked the house. We all really liked the house. Then a "Behind the Scenes" tour, which was fair. More details will follow on this. We stopped at the gift shop, buying some books on the house and its owner- D got a shot glass, N got some postcards. Very pleasant despite the crowd.
I drove us back as far as Santa Rosa, making up for the time I was incapacitated the day before. By the middle of this, stuck in high traffic, I was very irritable. Every ounce of sleepy from yesterday had been replaced with irritability today. I was ticked, said so, acted so.
We ate that evening at Hunter's Steakhouse- from salad to cheesecake. Good meal. I think we were all in good spirits by the time we left.
Shower. Packing. TV. Packing. Chicken Nuggets. Sleep.
----
Friday:
The end must come eventually. We were all packed and prepared in the early morning. Off and away, leaving Windsor to head back to Southern California.
First stretch went easily- 101 down to the 1, across the Golden Gate, through the Presidio, and down San Fran for the last time. Once we got into the San Fran area, traffic slowed to a fucking halt. I slow ass, California traffic, HALT. We stopped at some McDonald's to get food and then back into the concrete jungle.
Finally, clawing through the city, with the two women already showing vague signs of pissiness, we hit the coastline. Ahhh, driving down the coastline was something

My fantastic vacation bed.

Kelly's Rock.

Kelly's Rock: for some reason this rock struck me as important, symbolic, something like that. It is located at some vista point near Big Sur, probably slightly north of there, on the Pacific Coast Highway.

Give Mother Nature Some Love.

To give you some idea of how massive these Redwoods are...

Welcome to Northern California.

Nature... Muir Woods National Park.

Never Miss an Opportunity to Contemplate the Ocean.

That's me. The California comtemporary of my father it would seem.

The Winchester House

Winchester House which is more beautiful inside than can possibly be ascertained from this picture, in my opinion.

Winchester Bedroom

Winchester House, the bedroom Mrs. Winchester died in. Not many pictures from inside.

Pacific. Coast. Highway.

PCH is quite the scenic drive.