I’m Still Standin’

After all this time

Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind.

Not really. I am obsessing about the last 10 years, and how I have been a dumb ass when it comes to love.

Ten years. Ten years of burying my head in the sand – of convincing myself that the little things mattered, and that they were proof that I was loved by this man.

How he would clean the catboxes after arthritis/bad back started complaining that they were NOT going to cooperate with this sort of activity.

How he would get up – even after an hours sleep to brew the first pot of coffee, and then bring me my first cup. Because he knew my hands would rebel at picking up and holding the pot – I was so afraid of breaking the carafe.

How he would load/unload the dishwasher (or do the dishes, when we didn’t have one) because he knew I hated it.

Same with going to the laundry mat when we didn’t have washer/dryer in whatever unit….

Yes. All of these were thoughtful, and all of these were wonderful. However.

However – when he skipped out on a days work while we were in MA and had the home renovation business , leaving me to field the calls and even knocks on the door asking where he was – because the entire side of the house was gone and only covered in plastic –

when he would disappear for a day or two or three – once while I was sick with what turned out to be pneumonia and had asked for cough syrup to be picked up (only one car in this household.)

When my facebook would fill with ads for single women in the Austin area – and I would know that he had been perusing… thinking… hell. maybe even doing.

STILL. Me – the fool. I know that there is a good person deep under somewhere. THAT is the person I fell in love with – the one I stuck to for so many years. Almost 11 to be exact.

I should have known right away, when after just 5 months of him living with me, getting a call from a “friend” letting me know that I was going to be evicted the very next day, if I didn’t do something.

When I got back to my apartment (after leaving work early) – he immediately headed to the bedroom to pack. I asked what the hell he was doing. His reply? “You are going to tell me to leave, so I thought I would start…” My answer was “ Do you love me? REALLY love me?”

He said that he did, so I asked “What are we going to do now? How are we going to fix this?”

That was when he suggested we move to MA. We may be able to get people to help with loans to get us into another place in CO – but that wasn’t guaranteed, and time was short. In MA, we could stay with his parents for a few months, build up a bit of a cushion, and then start fresh!

I was scared, but I have to admit that there was some excitement too. New area of the country – one that I was promised was lower cost of living (NOT SO MUCH GUYS – just sharing that.) with opportunity – and a bail out. All it really required, was losing everything I had with the exception of a single box of books, and my clothes. (I drove a 1998 Metro at the time – and there wasn’t a lot of room for ANYthing).

So.

I am STILL standing. After all this time. I am picking up the pieces of my life though my husband is very prominently on my mind. I am heartbroken that he doesn’t love himself enough – or ME enough to work to make a life that works for us together. This too, shall pass. For now however, I shall have to drink a glass or three of wine, and remember that I – and my thoughts and actions DO matter. For me more than anyone else.

I’m still standing yeah yeah yeah.

Yeah. I am. Barely.

I let myself, and my life be dragged out of shape by a man that (retrospectively) didn’t LOVE me – but loved what I represented. Stability. Security. Money set aside for larger bills…

EXCEPT.

Yeah. Except, the money set aside was spent The security was not there. The stability was not there. BECAUSE – the money was spent when it WAS NOT THERE.

Trufax people. I would have liked to celebrate my FIVE YEARS with my company – but couldn’t -because I can’t afford it, and didn’t have a way home. >.< I would STILL like to celebrate this achievement, but again, no money, no ride. (This too will change – and I may try to do this when I get the five year award.  >.>  )

Now, a couple of days after writing the first part of this – he has called. And is trying to wiggle his way back in. Asking for another six months to get his shit together.

I need to remember that I have done and tried this countless times. And – that I have been disappointed each time. I simply cannot afford to give anymore to this go nowhere money and emotional pit of a relationship.

And a little more of my hear breaks.

This too shall pass. I know this. It is living through until that happens. That sucks ass. Seriously.

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I’m Done

***Warning of incoming wall o’ text that may or may not crit the reader for 56432168411 damage, effectively one shotting them.  >.>  I keep looking at it, trying to figure out how to trim some fat – and am simply not able to.  Maybe like Stephen King, I have diarrhea of the word processor.  Or maybe, I simply have a LOT to say here, and need to get it worked out in words.  <.<

I promise however, that the ending won’t be horrible.  It isn’t roses and unicorn farts, but it is a good one for me, I think.

So.

As has become the norm,  it has been a while since my last post because as usual, life has gotten crazy, Lots of stuff got moved to the back burner. where it turned into a charred mess. Cleaning the pan has taken FOREVER.  (probably not the best analogy ever -but who the hell cares!  Am I right?  Y’all know what I mean to say.)

Still scrubbin’ away at the burns, and finding new places all the time but was reminded by the amazing Kit (again with the loves for Kit.  Amazing, caring, loving woman.)  She told me that she was sad because I had not posted in so long.  I told her that I hadn’t because I couldn’t find the words to describe my life right now – it has been so crazy,  my  heart was broken, and I was tender.  She replied that it sounded like the good starting point.

She had a point, so here I am.

To catch up a bit.  Last time you heard from our intrepid heroine, she was happily ensconced in a lovely apartment, with two (seemingly) incomes, in charge of funds so that things would run well – and while her work hours weren’t ideal, things were pretty damned good.

It wasn’t what everyone probably thinks. My husband has always been rather footloose and fancy free when it came to money and responsibility – and telling the truth. Even small things were lies – like where he got groceries… I don’t know in retrospect if he understood the difference.

He is 50 years old- and has never to my knowledge held a job for more than 2 years. He keeps having visions of being a big time contractor, working for himself, making the bucks, but doesn’t have the self discipline to actually -do- that. He doesn’t seem to get the concept that working for your self doesn’t mean LESS work – it means 70 hour weeks instead of 40 with a steady paycheck. It means saving from the fat weeks to cover the lean times while building the business.

His lies have become just too big – and cost me too much. In October, he went to jail unexpectedly. He had some sort of bounced check in Williamson county, and told me it was taken care of. Not so much, and he was arrested by the sheriff who was serving papers for -another- issue. (That bounced check was the same thing he was arrested for in JANUARY – and swore he had it taken care of) His family wouldn’t even help him out of jail.

I got a call from his sister stating basically that he was 50, and they couldn’t do it anymore. It is sad that both his brother and sister not only said that he needed to find his own way out – but urged me to take care of and look after myself, and offered their ears for any ranting/talking I may need to do.

I had never been more humiliated in my life. He lost his job more than 2 months prior  (near the beginning of July) and didn’t tell me – but DID run my bank account into overdraft.

Yes, I hid my card, he found it anyway. He had to have really been searching. He also stole checks out of my checkbook – two of which were paid by the bank (with heavy overdraft fees) – but one to Lowe’s that did -not- and I was working with them to get a payment plan on that – so I don’t end up with a warrant over MY head for a bad check from MY checking account. (They have since simply dropped it.)

If I have to though, I was willing to file a police report – because while I didn’t want to kick him when he was down so to speak, I refused to go to jail, or take blame for that.

I was in an extended stay motel, as the loss of his job/his not coming clean/his stealing from my checking account, and his lying meant that we had to move out of the lovely apartment  by xx date, or face eviction. Again. (This is the second or third – I am not sure about one that he swears was NOT an eviction – time he has put me in THAT position.) I didn’t have any money to pay for another night – and my paycheck for 2 weeks was less than 100 because of overdraft fees. I am blessed that my friend Sarah stepped in, and offered me and the kitties a room in her home.

I am very lucky to have the friends and dad that I have.

Right away, Sarah told me that I could come stay with them for a few weeks, while I figured out what I was going to do.  My dad sent me a bit of cash to tide me over, and help me get back on my feet. as did my lovely friend John and his beautiful bride.

I found that the storage shed, that had all of our stuff, had **also** not been paid for quite some time.  In fact, it was going to go to auction, just like that crappy reality TV show if it wasn’t paid within 10 days.  Now – I get quite a lot of swag from my job – and it can’t be sold.  That is in the agreement when you hire on.  If it had gone to auction, I was in very real danger of losing my job.  (I did go to HR, but there is still the danger of breaking contract.)  My wonderful friend Brenda (who called me every single week during the 5 years I was in MA to remind me that there were people who loved me) made sure that I got that taken care of, so I wouldn’t lose my job.

The first few days of his incarceration, my husband would call me through bail bondsmen – who would try to convince me to pay the bail.  When I stated flat out that I didn’t have the money – he got angry and told me that if I wanted to – I would find a way.  Ummm.   No.  I was the next thing to broke – even WITH the help from my friends and family.  No way could I or **would** I pay that bond.  He had bailed on the first court date, and ended up with a warrant.

Because I am beyond blessed, I was able to pay insurance on the car (another bill that had been “forgotten” – I wonder now where all the money **I** made went).  Ransom my stuff, and get it moved over to my friends house.

Of course, once I got into the storage, I found it had been pillaged.  A lot of stuff had never made it into the shed – or maybe it had been sold off.  My sewing machine and craft stuff, all of my books (less the ones I had in the extended stay for the year) my bed, my chest freezer… even more heartbreaking to me, the very first Christmas present I got from my place of employment. A lovely professional grade poker set that I had never used.  Along with two other branded poker sets that I had purchased (not the same kind) also in pristine condition.

Since these sets were in the bottom of my swag box – I don’t buy the “someone must have stolen them” line I got from the husband.  How would someone have known that that box was special?  Why the poker sets instead of the other swag that would be worth just as much?  I am guessing that was the one thing that someone felt might fetch some cash.  And it is not replaceable though the company.

While he was in jail, after I made it clear to the bondsmen he was third party calling through that I would **NOT** be paying bail, I wrote a letter.  (He couldn’t call me directly, cell phones don’t take collect calls.)

That letter let him know that I couldn’t go on the way we had been.  I had lost everything three times because of him – and I needed more stability.  I hoped that when he got out of jail, he would buckle down, get a real job and an apartment, pay his bills, and learn to live like a responsible human being.  I wasn’t filing for divorce right off.  If he could do that, and be responsible, and live that way for a year or two – we could see about dating, and see if being together was something we still wanted.

Fast forward to the end of October.  Husband gets out of jail, and shows up at my place of employment while I am out sick.  (Sick is going to become a recurring theme for the next several months.  Stress, plus strange weather and allergies played HELL with my chronic bronchitis.  /sigh)  When I get back to work, the physical safety officer calls me into her office, to make sure I was going to be ok – and to ask if they need to put a notice to other security that he could be a danger.  Not necessary, I tell her.  He isn’t physically violent, and I don’t foresee him doing anything that would put me or others in danger.

He shows up again that day.  Because I still love him even though I have left, I make some concessions.  If he is going to get a job, and start working, he does need transportation.  While I am at work, I have agreed that he could use the car.  I would pick him up, take him to work with me, and he would meet me there when I got off – and I would take him home.  Not ideal – but the best I could do.

Here’s where I started to fuck up.  There were a couple of times he would be 20 short for something – gas, or whatever, and I would “lend” it to him.  He would swear that I would see it back by XX day – and of course XX day came, and there was some excuse, some reason why he didn’t have it to give.  I kept him on my insurance plan, because he swore he would pay me the cost of it every month.  Our phone plan, same.

Then, the car died.  Like completely.  No fixin’ this puppy.  Dead.  So, I head off to rent a car for a few days, because husband swore up down and sideways that the guy he was renting a room from could find another car very easily – he actually has a business buying them at auction and flipping them.

Three weeks later – I am turning back in the rental, my Christmas bonus from work eaten up – and still no car.  No word on a car.  Husband has obtained a truck from somewhere – he says it is borrowed, for an indefinite amount of time.  Again, as before, I am depending on and relying on him to get me on time, to get to work.  And of course, there comes a time when things don’t work so well in that situation.  (Didn’t see that coming, I bet.  **rolls eyes**)

I am desperate.  I need a car, because I need to get to work.  I don’t want to lose my job on top of everything else.   Talking to the sister of my soul Julie about the whole mess.  Considering one of those places like Carmax, that will charge an outrageous amount of interest on a car – but unable to qualify anywhere else.  Again I am rocked by how blessed I am.

Julie, who worked for years to get herself and her finances back to good after going through something very similar, pops up with a figure that is in the range of what I can pull off – and then insists on loaning me the money to get a new car.  She even sends an amortization schedule, and apologizes about the interest – she will have to pay interest on it, or she wouldn’t ask for it.  (To be clear, I wouldn’t have taken it without some interest added in – she deserves something for not having that resource for the years of the payment schedule.)

I get a car – and while I am not going to go into THAT whole sad story – I should have it again soon.  >.>  Suffice to say I should have it back in the next couple of days.

Now however, I am **BACK** to relying on husband, and now – he is homeless.  He is living in the ‘borrowed’ truck – and has no money, no food, nothing.

Again, I give him some food money.  Gas for the truck.  (This helps me too – I have to get to and from work while my car is in the shop.)  I am getting low on funds – I have nothing much to fall back on. Every day, I am putting 20.00 of gas in the truck, and I simply don’t have the income to sustain that.

Husband finds a place to stay – a place where down on their luck musicians can “volunteer” 20 hours a week or so to cleaning up the property in exchange for the use of a camping trailer.  No electricity or running water – but a roof.  There are fire pits to cook over.  He gets a job with a temp company, and says that he has been offered a permanent full time job with the company that he is doing work for.

EXCEPT.  Yeah.  Except – he calls me one night, drunk, and tells me that he likes the ranch – that if it gets its funding, he could have a job there.  He doesn’t want to take that guaranteed job, he would rather do the volunteer stuff on the ranch, and maybe get foodstamps.  When I say that he has to make his own choices for what he wants out of his life – he comes up with “I would be doing it for US!”

Um….   what?  Really?  Yeah.  No.  I don’t think so.

Next day – he tells me that he wasn’t serious the night before, and if he did get the guaranteed job, he would take it.

EXCEPT – one week later – almost two weeks ago – I come out of work at 10.45, and he is not there to pick me up.  I call, and he says he got stuck – but he will be there in half an hour.  An hour goes by – and still no husband.  I try to call – no answer.  I try again at  midnight, and again at 12.15.  No answer.

I was waiting for the last shift to get off at 1.30 – I had been offered a ride home by a couple of people if I was still there when their shift ended.  I was saved however, by my room mate, who realized that I wasn’t home yet- called to make sure I was ok, and then insisted on getting OUT of bed to come get me.  ❤

She and her husband had discussed it – and if she didn’t need his car (he is driving hers while she looks for a job) I could take it to and from work til mine was finished.  When she has needed it – she takes me to work, and I try to find a ride home.

Husband **DID** leave me an email the next day – saying that if I needed a ride to work, let him know.  I didn’t answer it.  Not going to put myself in that position again.

I **DID** call him however, when I found out that our shared phone plan had gone over on data (I don’t use my phone as a computer.  Ever.  The data is all him.)  He didn’t answer, so I left a message telling him that I couldn’t afford the regular bill, much less the overage.  He needed to stop with the data.

I have talked to my phone carrier – and it pisses me off, because though mine is the name on the account – I can’t remove him unless he agrees to take over financial responsibility for his phone.  Like that is going to happen.  >.<  I think I might at least see about dropping the plan to the bare minimum on data – and I have already pin locked the account so it can’t have changes made to it.  I have also requested that we have a hard cap on data – once it is gone – it is gone.

Next, I have talked to my HR rep at work about what would be needed (legal separation vs full on divorce) to remove him from my health insurance.  I could really use that extra 140.00 or so a month.

I have a feeling that the drunk phone call was his real feelings.  He would rather have a life of minimal responsibility – even if it means some discomfort.  Whatever.  That is NOT the life I choose for myself.  I am on the road to fully truly and finally getting rid of the concrete block that I have chained myself to.
I feel like I have just thrown away the last 10 years of my life – and I come out of this infinitely poorer in all respects. I have given up everything twice (or thrice?) for him.  I never ever wanted to become a statistic.  I swore I would never be in one broken marriage, much less two.

I am strong, and I am resilient, and I know I will get through this. It is overwhelming now – and my heart is breaking in the process. As childish, and irresponsible and outright untruthful as he is – I do love my husband. I just can’t do this anymore. When we moved to TX for this job, 5 years ago he promised me that he would get a normal, 40/week job, and with me doing the budgeting, we could have a REAL NORMAL (as normal as one can have) life. That promise hasn’t been kept – and now, I find myself living in a strange house, borrowing money from friends and my dad, and trying to mend my heart.

I hope that at some point, he really stops to THINK about things, and actually come out with a plan to be more responsible as well. I hope he can find enough love for himself that he stops skating through life, and starts living it. I don’t see that happening however. At 50, I don’t see him really making that connection. And that makes me incredibly sad.

At one point, my mindset was this:

“I don’t think he will really change, but if he did – if he actually spent a couple of years learning to and doing the right thing – I might consider it. I do love him. He has to be responsible for himself, or not.”

That has changed.  I don’t know that I would or COULD ever trust that he had changed.  I feel like I have been a resource – not a love. I won’t be the sometime crutch anymore.

I am currently taking Xanax (on a very occasional basis – the first 30 day script lasted me almost 5 months…) because I have been having anxiety/panic attacks again.  I am hoping that that need will ease up soon.  I am considering trying to find a counselor that I can click with if I feel the need to talk/work through things – or I might just subject y’all to more walls o’ text.  >.>

A wonderful meme I found somewhere (or someone else found and I stole – I forget which) said this:

“When someone loves you, they don’t have to say it. You can tell by the way they treat you.”

How very true!  How very real. How very very much I need to see, hear and remember this.

Now – the most important part of my blog.
A LOT of the strength, inspiration and courage to jump, and cut the ties, has been wormed into my brain by an amazing woman.

I can’t even begin to be as elegant and beautiful a writer as she is – not to mention so full of class and just bad ass – but I am doing my best to emulate.

Elisa Romero – published author and wonderful woman, went through her own marriage meltdown fairly recently.  Reading her posts, her words, and seeing her strength and beauty, have been an inspiration.  Y’all should really read her blog!  It is amazing.  ❤

Angels and Forever

She is amazing, and this may have you searching for her on Amazon!

Madison’s Gate  Just one of her many books.  ❤

I love you all so much for sticking through this novel with me.  Remember – as long and rambling as it was – I truncated a LOT.  >.>

Be good, be happy and be real.  That is what I plan to do.  ❤

The Power of Words

We’ve all heard the phrase “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” chanted at us when we were young, and crying because someone had said something cruel.

Of course, that phrase is supposed to put us in a mind frame that says “what others say to/about me doesn’t matter!  I am __________________(insert the opposite of whatever was said)”

As we all know – this is not true.  Words do hurt.  They can cut deep, and leave scars to rival, or even surpass the physical.  Bruises fade.  Cuts heal, grow smaller, and some physical scars will fade away completely – even if the gaining of them stays sharp and clear.

Words however, leave no physical evidence.  They are sneaky and insiduous.  They worm their way into the head, and pop up when we are most vulnerable to them.  They take on a life of their own – especially when you are already unsure about/insecure about whatever it was that the words addressed.

Struggling with clinical depression – struggling with a lower self esteem, and second guessing all the time makes this even more invasive. I fight with myself over every mistake – every word I have uttered that may have been misconstrued – even years after the fact.  I worry about what and how I said something, because I know this to be true:

Words can indeed hurt.  A lot.

When those words are uttered by someone who is supposed to love you?  Devastating.

Why do those we love do this?  Is it because they are hurting, and know that it is safe to lash out at us?  I mean, we love them – we should forgive.  Right?

I ask, because this happened to me today.  I have been sick for going on a week now.  I don’t know if FMLA will cover the second part of the sick.  It overspans the covered timeframe for the month that we have set up.  I need to see my doctor to ask about having that amended.

My sister called while I was napping – so I missed it.  Called her back after I woke up – and she was screaming at me.

I am here, running a fever of 101 – 102, coughing, hacking, and generally feeling like crap.  She?  Is flinging mud.  Starts with the fact that she has been trying to get ahold of me (facebook and phone) for THREE MONTHS.  It isn’t a matter of her catching me – I just don’t give a fuck, and don’t call back!  (Truth is – I checked.  NO messages on facebook – and one, from JUNE, that was missed.  She had called when I was at work, with my phone off).

She moves on to trying to throw down a guilt trip about my mom.

See, before my mom died, she sent me a Logitech webcam for my computer, and Skype.  It was my birthday present.  I hooked it up, but couldn’t get it to work correctly.  Mom died before I could get the damned thing figured out.

My youngest sister was telling me that I broke my moms heart – denied her her dying wish – wouldn’t use the camera mom bought for me, so she could see me before she DIED.  Didn’t I feel bad that I denied that wish?

Yeah.  No.  Not going to accept that one.

Sorry.  I managed to get over/not fall for guilt trips a long time ago.  Not gonna fall for this one. My youngest sister was just trying to pick a fight.  So, I told her that I wasn’t gonna do this, and hung up.

She called back.  I answered, and the first thing I asked was “are you going to be a reasonable adult?”  “Yes!  Just answer the damned question!”  I hung up again.

The third time, I answered and said that I would speak – but only if she were civil.

Nope.  “Just answer…”  I hung up again, and turned off my phone for about 1/2 hour.

Turned the phone back on (because I was waiting for a call from my FMLA coordinator, to figure out how the messed up claim was going to work), and she called one more time.

“So.  Are you going to be civil, and speak to me calmly?”

“yes.”

“ok.  How are you?”

“Fine.  Just answer the question.  What about…”

“No.  I am sick – running a fever of 102.  I am not going to do this.  Check your facebook.”  and I hung up.

I think she got the message.  She hasn’t called back.  My facebook message to her is private, but basically says, “I love you – but I won’t do this.  I refuse to do this.  If you want to talk to me, I am happy to do so.  If you want to abuse me because you are unhappy with something in your life, don’t bother.  I am not the cause of your unhappiness, and I won’t do this.”

I do love my sister.  She has problems, and I understand that.  She has let those problems dictate her life, instead of trying to figure out how to overcome them.  She has trapped herself in a victim mentality – and now doesn’t want to take responsibility for anything.

I however, refuse to be her punching bag.  I refuse to let her try to drag me to that level.  AND – I know that she is doing this, because she has something that is bothering her, and feels that the only way to deal with it, is to make herself “better”.  Better than someone, or…  I don’t even know anymore.  I am sick, and I am tired, and I am so over drama.

And yet.  I know that while I loved my mother, very dearly – it was a LOT easier from a thousand or two miles away.  I did try to set up that damned camera, but did I try hard enough?  I know that I was ashamed of the way the thyroid issues I have developed made me look, and the weight gain they have caused.  Did I not try hard enough because of NOT wanting to be seen that way?

Is she right?  Did I deny my mother the chance to see me – and ME of my last chance to see her?  Even subconsiously? (realizing of course, that mom died unexpectedly.  There wasn’t any warning.  Talked to her on Sunday night – Monday morning, sis called to tell me mom had died in her sleep.)

Still, I don’t know.  And not knowing, I guess that question will add itself to the other million little nibbling spiders of self sabotage in my subconscious – trying to weave webs of tangled doubt.

I guess congratulations are in order.  The guilt trip?  Seems to have worked.

Fear and Love

So.

I’ve had a real home for a few months, had a shift change, and am now held again to my IDP. (Individual Development Plan as you remember).

New team manager can be a bit of a stickler, and he is gonna hold me to it! (Thanks, Mr. Man. I definitely need the motivation/prods).

It’s not that I don’t want to write. I do! I really really do! There is just so much going on in my twisted little head…

First.

There is of course a fear of starting back up. Writing on a regular basis means commitment!

Other than my high and lofty goals, set out 1.5 years ago, I haven’t written regularly since 1993 when my best friend in the world, the mate of my soul, and one of the most loved people in my life Kevin, died.

He was so young. Just 30 when AIDS took him.

This was before the first cocktail went into trials. This was back when people were so afraid of AIDS that they freaked out at the mere thought of knowing someone affected. I remember my mom being worried because I used to hug Kevin, and even (OH MY GOD) kiss his cheek. She was frightened – afraid that I would contract the disease from that kind of contact.

Back then, people weren’t very informed. There was a LOT of hysteria about the disease. The docs didn’t know much, and the general populace, even less.

I however, knew that we were OK. If he didn’t have an open sore on his cheek (and yeah. Whose gonna kiss a cheek with an open sore anyway. Really?) I would be fine. It wasn’t airborn, so hugs were FINE.

And, at that time, we were both in need of hugs.

I had miscarried my first baby, and he was in the midst of an ugly breakup with his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend was still his roomie – because they couldn’t afford to live separate. Ex-byfriend was bringing new boys home every couple of evenings – and in the end, had a “live in”. Poor Kevin. His heart was given, and he tried to be stoic, but I know he was hurting. His heartbreak was mine.

I loved Kevin from the first time I met him, at the Denny’s where my first husband waited tables early in our marriage. (He worked there, and I had a job as a subcontractor for the USGS, doing data entry). He worked there as well, and when I came in for all night coffee, waiting for Rick to get off, Kevin never minded if I had a table in his section.

We would talk about books, politics, religion… any and everything that could or would come up. Debate, and discussion, and even if we didn’t agree (which didn’t happen that often, surprisingly) we had a rousing good time, often ending with heading out to breakfast when his shift was over, to discuss more!

It was with Kevin that I saw the movie “The Accused”. Jodie Foster playing Sarah Tobias, in a film that was loosely based on a 1983 rape case, involving a woman gang raped in a bar in MA. SHE was the accused, because she “dressed and acted provocatively”. This movie had me in hysterics. Kevin was able to calm me down, talk me down, help me feel not so violated watching the movie. (I have some serious empathy issues – and when I can relate, Nellie bar the door!)

It was with Kevin that I learned about non mainstream religion (read paganism, in all of its forms) and started to come to an understanding of what the divine means to ME. It was with Kevin that I learned to be a bit more open. Kevin was like a brother I didn’t grow up with, but had he been NOT gay, or I a man, he would have been my love. My one and only. And I would have been his. In the bodies/lives we had however, that was not to be.

Kevin was also my writing buddy. Both of us had the fire. The need. The want. We would read, and critique, and edit, and then reread each others work. He was a maarvelous author, and he had faith in ME and my writing as well. Of course, thinking back on what I was writing then, I cringe. SO fraught with meaning – symbolic as hell, and oh my gods preachy? I should say SO! Ugh. I hope that when I get up the courage to try to write more than my little blog posts here, that I will have found I have grown, and that I am better for the wisdom I have gained.

Still, and most importantly, we were both writing. Kevin was in school – taking classes at the community college, and writing stuff for his Creative Writing course. He also had a filebox full of titles, snips and ideas, as did I.

1993. Kevins HIV positive status had tipped over into full blown AIDS and he had Kaposi Sarcoma. It was invading his legs, feet… pretty much the entire lower half of his body, and with HIV, yeah.

There was a close call in November of that year – where I (as executor of his estate, and Power of Attorney for him) was told that his family should be called – he wasn’t likely to last much longer. He was out of his head – delirious.

Of course, this happened when we were in the beginning stages of a full blown blizzard in Denver. Still, I went to the airport (20 miles give or take each way) three times to get his parents, and each of his brothers as they flew in and take them to the hospital.

Turned out, the staff at the hospital had given him a drug that was dehydrating his brain, and hadn’t given him saline in his IV to help. Once someone realized that, he was more himself.

At that point though – I had another meeting with the hospital staff. His condition wasn’t going to get better, and they wanted me to choose a hospice facility.

It was a happy chance that the one closest to where I lived (only about 6 miles) was also rated the best. At this point, I was spending 18-20 hours a day at bedside, making sure he was never alone. After he got moved to the hospice, he became clearer, more focused. The staff there was awesome. He however, was breaking my heart. He kept talking about “when he got out”. I didn’t want to face it, but I had to.

“Kevin, hon. This is a hospice.”

“Yeah – I know. But when I get out – ”

“Hon. The reason you are here, is because there isn’t much time, and we want to keep you as comfortable as we can until…”

“You mean I am going to DIE here?”

“…” (with a squeeze to hand, and tears in my eyes)

“Why the FUCK didn’t anyone tell me? Mom and dad have been talking about when I go home. There’s so much I need to do before I die! So much I need to get out. Please. Make sure my stuff gets done? My books and stories get written? Finish them for me?”

(This is pretty much verbatim for how that conversation went. It is seared into my brain.)

And for the next week or so – I took notes. And listened. And committed to memory. And spent time with my best friend, my soul mate, as he slipped further and further away.

Finally, on December 3rd, 1993, we were in the sun room, and he was giving me more information about stuff he wanted written. Ideas he had, and novels that were conceived, but he was wandering a bit. A couple of nurses were in the room as well, having a smoke break. (This was back in the day – most places still allowed smoking, and in this hospice, that sunroom was the smoking room.)

They looked at each other, and then at me, and the sadness and compassion in their eyes told me exactly what I was afraid to hear/see. “Why don’t we get Kevin back to his room now for a bit? I think he is probably a bit tired.”

They got him back into his bed, and then went to hunt down his family. I stayed there, holding his hand, and a couple of minutes after everyone got there, he was done.

I leaned over, and kissed his cheeks, his lips, his eyes, and whispered into his ear that I would write for him. I would remember him, and I would love him forever.

Now, 20 years have passed. I still love Kevin, and I miss him every day. Some thought of him comes most every day for me still. He was and is, a part of my life that is precious, and beautiful. I have NOT however, fulfilled that promise. I stopped writing.

Apathy. Fear. Heartache. These invaded my life, until it became easier to make excuses than it was to make stories.

Writing this blog was supposed to be a way back to the joy – but I have been letting fear (and a bit of real life) get in the way of that.

Fear is the biggest part here. I have been left with a huge responsibility. Write his stuff – and do it justice. Write my stuff, and do IT justice.

I am afraid. He was such a marvelous writer – and I don’t know that I CAN do this. He had faith in me, but I am having a hard time finding that faith in myself. Can I write it – get it out, and get it READ? If I do, would it be what he wanted it to be? Would it be good enough?

These thoughts haunt me, and I find myself sinking into a quagmire. If I don’t try, I won’t fail.

If I don’t try however, I can’t succeed. I will also have broken a promise made to someone I loved, and still love with all my heart.

Serious and Important.

So.

I said I was going to try to be more fun, and HAVE more fun with my posts, but then something happened this week.

A very good friend of mine had something truly horrific happen with and to her family. Her oldest son was accosted, beaten and kicked, by TWENTY children. While a coach at the school stood by and did nothing. The school wants this shoved under the rug, saying that it is a “one time thing that probably won’t happen again.”

**I** happen to think that ONCE is too many times! Seriously. What is WRONG with people?

Thank goodness a passing parent ALSO saw what was going on, chased off the kids, and called the police.  This could have had a much different and infinitely sadder ending but for that.

Instead of trying to post something fun, or funny, I am going to do something much more important.

I am going to post a link to her blog post about this. I think it needs to be shared, and reposted, and spread about until the school has NO CHOICE but to do the right thing.

                                    Dylan’s Story

I hope that anyone who reads this – y’all see the seriousness, and get this out there! ❤

**Oh – and for y’all that play World of Warcraft, this is a GREAT site about healing, and leading, and all that fun stuff!  I highly suggest checking out the other posts here.  Elunamakata and Braelyan ROCK!

Catch Up Time!

It is a me!

And while things are still crazy pants in the fashionably strapped jacket sort of way, I thought I might just go ahead and share some of it. Maybe it will make me less crazy, and more… BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Who am I kidding?

Have to say right off the bat – sorry Dad for any language. I will try, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be a bomb here or there. >.<

ANYway. Still here, still living, as is the hubster. (though he is on rather… thin ice. >.<)

STILL in ~ 100 – 150 Sq feet room with lil kitchenette and bath from hell. Looks to be at least DECEMBER before I can hope to live like a real, not… less than dependable member of society. /sigh. At least it is a roof. He did remember that I promised to cut him if I ended up under the overpass… and I didn’t end up there… HOWEVER.

Yeah. Money shot to hell and back again. I had had the brilliant idea of handing control over to him, as I couldn’t seem to get him to live by a budget of my making. Reverse psychology at its worst.

The thinking was this – I was supposed to have control of the money initially, and get us on track. He kept finding ways to make that NOT happen – up to and including not handing money over for jobs, taking money out of my purse, or wherever I hid it, ninjaing my debit card… SO – I had told him that I was tired. Giving up. He wanted to do the money thing? Figure the budget and how to pay everything with a variable income? He could have it. If I ended up under a bridge, or without internet, I would cut him. HE said that he was happy for the challenge. Just wait and see. It would be brilliant. Ummmm. Yeah.

Turns out – the house that he was supposedly “fixing up before they would rent to us”?

Not so much. He says they had a rental agreement (that the landlord broke – and since it was “handshake” he doesn’t have any proof) – but I think he is trying to save face, and to his face, I am letting him. However, my thoughts are as follows:

He had the job to fix it, but not to rent it. The money got spent. He didn’t have a back up – and now, we didn’t have a place to go, nor deposit/last month to get there. Stuff in storage, (with back payments owed, so I can’t even get into it to get books to read, or more clothing) bank account overdrawn, and he is pawning tools he needs to work, to pay basics, because my entire paycheck is now being swallowed by overdraft + fees. He fell behind, and… yeah. UGH. Lies to me time.

Let me get this straight right now. I ABHOR lies. Absolutely. Completely. I have told him AD NAUSEUM that lying is the very WORST thing he can do. Tell me the truth and I may be temporarily angry – lie to me and that shit stews. Seriously. Because I CANNOT take the next thing you say at face value now – and I need STABILITY damn it! Even if that stability has very very thin and whittled supports. They can be shored up, and eventually replaced. Keep shoring rotten supports? Without truly fixing them, even one at a time?

That building is eventually gonna fall down.

I have discussed before that stability is necessary for me to function. Take it away, and I don’t do so good. I like a schedule. I like stability. Hell. I used to LAMINATE my monthly budgets, so that I could use whiteboard markers if needed – and yet keep the basics there. (I know. Obsessive much? Still after a divorce, and multiple starting wage positions after so long – money, where it is and where it is going to BE is an important thing!)

So – paychecks are being swallowed whole by bank. Husbster doesn’t have a 40 hour a week job still. We have a “come to Jesus” talk, where I lay it out. He needs 40 hours. No more Mr. Big Time Contractor dreams. He cannot manage himself, or money well enough for that. 40 hours, where they take the taxes out, and he has to report to someone. NOW. My job is (or was… more on that later – not this blog, which looks to be headed towards the LONG side already) stable, with fantastic benefits and bonuses, but it doesn’t quite pay enough (hourly) to support one, much less two people. >.<

He did step up – and so far, it seems he has gotten himself into a decent place  (making good money, doing what he does best, for a guy that seems pretty standup…) .

He is currently working for an engineer who has some pretty hefty credentials on the East Coast, trying to break into the contracting business here in TX. Pay is good, at least for this 60 day eval phase. Boss seems to be pretty cool (there have been a few… issues these first few weeks, and he has stepped in and helped. He is either the most trusting man from New Jersey EVAR!, or he is truly impressed with the work that Pete does). Don’t get me wrong. Pete is FANTASTIC at what he does. He does a good job. He just needs that oversight to do it when he is supposed to. /sigh.

Onward. Money? The hubster got my bank account overdrawn to the point that ALL my pay for the month of May was sucked into a morass of overdraft fees. No end in sight. I went to my HR and set it up so that it wouldn’t be direct deposited anymore. (the bank WILL be paid. Just at a rate that leaves me money to live. Seriously.) AND, since I don’t have a ‘real’ address to mail a check to, they are having it delivered to the office. HOWEVER.

/sigh. After the first, flawless transition check, it has been a nightmare. My company decided to change payroll processors. >.<

Two weeks ago? Check wasn’t there when I went in on Saturday. (It is supposed to be there on Friday, but I couldn’t get there – Pete was working, so I didn’t have a way to get down to the office.) No problem – I had been told that if I didn’t make it for some reason on Fridays, it would be put in my team leads office, for me to get from him on Saturday (which is my new Monday work schedule wise).

EXCEPT – it wasn’t there. Team Lead hits up HR at home – and turns out that if it was mailed, it may be in the **LOCKED** mailbox – and I won’t be able to get it til Monday. /sigh. Makes things a bit tough – but Pete can pawn another tool for a night or two in the “inn”, an we will tough it out. EXCEPT –

it isn’t there Monday either. HR calls – and they say it is in the mail. Will be there that afternoon – or Tuesday at the latest.

Not so much. It isn’t til TUESDAY – that they admit that they direct deposited it to the account it wasn’t supposed to go to – and were trying to get it back, to send it out.

Head of HR in Austin steps in and says “NOT ACCEPTABLE!” It should never have gone there in the first place – and they need to cut a check – Fedex it, and THEN figure out how to reclaim from the bank.

Finally, the following Wednesday, I have my check.

Ok. Now, I am sitting down to do a budget, figure out with the money Pete is bringing in, what we can do – when we can do it… (Including re accessing storage, where my STUFF is, including NOT my stuff, like Mrs Kitters cook book that she loaned me and wants back – but I can’t get to until the past two months have been paid…)
***IT MUST BE SAID HERE***  That I have taken money BACK!  I have threatened Pete with more than cutting if I don’t see every penny of his check, every Friday from now on!  I will make sure that he has enough to fill the van every week with gas – and that there is a certain amount budgeted in as “miscellaneous” so that he can buy… whatever – so long as it includes wine for me!  I am GOING to have my glass of wine every night, damnit!

Get a budget – figure this weekend – TODAY – we will be able to get started paying everyone back, and saving money to move into a REAL place – where my stuff is!  With Pete having awesome pay – it can even be a NICE place – since we have to pay through the nose anyway – and at this point, he owes me 500000521354694 times, and at this rate, must kiss my butt til the sun explodes, and then falls back in on itself  At that point, he will ALMOST have made it up. >.< ( Not to mention – books for me to read, and Kits book)

EXCEPT – echos of two weeks ago. I show up at office on Friday – no check. Used to be (with old payroll company I guess) any checks coming to the office were sent to corporate headquarters in CA, then Fedexed to Austin by our HR out there. That way, there were tracking numbers and such – and they could trace it.

HR CA says that it didn’t go through them – payroll processing sent all mail direct – through the USPS. /sigh

There are a couple of problems here. While they say they have my address as the office in ATX address – they ALSO said last time that they had mailed it – when they had direct deposited to a bank where the DD had been removed. If they mailed it – but to my old address, it would end up being returned to sender – and the old post office was TERRIBAD about being on time. Seriously. Took two months for a Christmas card that I sent around Thanksgiving to get to AZ from TX >,< Not to mention OTHER things, that just never made it, to, or from.

So – as the receptionist (who does the mail thing) isn’t in on weekends, it looks like I wait again, until at least Monday to see if I have a check – or if they flubbed again. Gotta say – I am NOT enamored of the new payroll service so far. >.<

Need to get a new bank set up – with direct deposit again – so that I can live -and still pay the old bank off. (Not to mention everyone else. /sigh) Pete will end up pawning tools again, just to buy gas/groceries (because we were naive. I figured they screwed up the first time – they would triple check this time, but NO!) until I have the check. So – no books out of storage until probably NEXT weekend. Have to try to stretch what I am reading now, I guess. ( and it is HARD! Of course, because my reading material is limited, reading is ALL I want to do! >.< Contrary should be my middle damned name)

Trying hard to keep a positive face on this. There are other things that have happened in the last couple of months that have set me back, and I am trying desperately to work it all out – and still stay somewhat sane!

Gonna try to keep up here – one thing that DID seem to make it to this room ( though was buried in the closet for a bit) was some of my crafting stuff. Some yarn, my crochet hooks and knitting needles…. my lil cross stitch Christmas ornament stuff. Gonna try to get some of that done, and then maybe – PICTURES! ❤

Welcome to Chez Crazypants…

I am not back really.  >.<

Things have been nutzo here in a stylish clothing choices that include LONG white linen arms that can be conveniently crossed for you kinda way!

I will promise to TRY to get back on track soon.  Can’t promise when that will be, but then, let the hilarity ensue!

Kit (love you Mrs. Kit) reminded me that no matter what is going on in my life, Y’all might want to know that I am at least still on the planet, and breathing.  Or not.  >.>

❤ you all, and will try try try to get it back on track, when I get ME back on track.  O.O

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