The Other Side?

Dear Hearts,

Last night I dreamt that I was on the deserted island in Castaway. But, I was determined to get off it. So I had some kind of raft and just roughed the waves until I got past the breaking waves.

Then I was in school—teaching. Time froze and was going backward. Only a few other people and I were able to understand why time had frozen. And I spend $15 on sunglasses to protect me “in case she cried.” No clue. Some evil female force that could hurt people with her tears? I was talking to the new Super and explaining how I was giving a lit/vocab test. She was telling me that was too much for the kids. I was, in my submissive way, making my case but she kept shutting me down. Then I was ANGRY. I was going to quit. I was determined. That was it. I was done. But how could I live without a job?? Terror. Then I realized I was on disability and surviving without a job. What a relief.

It doesn’t take Freud to figure these dreams.

It felt so good to get over those waves.

Last night I went to Mass. I know how the Missal works, but I read the Sunday that discussed cutting off your hand if it offends—again. Then I read two other Sunday’s readings.  I finally got the right one.

The Gospel Matthew 6:23-34

 ^“No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life,

what you will eat or drink,

or about your body, what you will wear.

Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?

Look at the birds in the sky;

they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns,

yet your heavenly Father feeds them.

Are not you more important than they?

Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span?

Why are you anxious about clothes?

Learn from the way the wild flowers grow.

They do not work or spin.

But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor

was clothed like one of them.

If God so clothes the grass of the field,

which grows today and is thrown into the oven tomorrow,

will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith?

So do not worry and say, 'What are we to eat?'

or 'What are we to drink?'or 'What are we to wear?'

All these things the pagans seek.

Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.

But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness,

and all these things will be given you besides.

Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself.

Sufficient for a day is its own evil."

I have to believe in Providence. Father was speaking—no, God was speaking to me. That’s why he had me read the cutting off your hand if it offends verse.

 ^“No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.”

This verse is often over simplified. Like all money is evil and can’t buy happiness. Well, only someone with an abundance of money would believe that. But Father asked us, “What are we working toward?”

Things? Those don’t last. Those aren’t as important as being a better person, having a relationship with God, and experience all those experiences that cannot be obtained in things: love, peace, compassion, joy, kindness…

When I was working as a teacher—I was working so that I could afford My House. I saw my job as the toll I had to pay to live a middle-class lifestyle in my house. Even since I have been on disability—my goal for going back to work has been to make enough money to keep My House. Not live in it. But, keep it.

Right here. Right now. At this moment. Sunday, February 26, 1:20 p.m. CST. What is most important to me is the pussycat snoozing next to me letting out little snores and the Old Man reading the paper in the kitchen. My family. Writing. Drawing. God. Mother Mary.

Do 350 Barbies make me happier than 34? Do six rooms make me happier than one?

I miss Gram. Her empty chair sits across from me. Her death was the beginning of the end of my former life. Before I left to come here with Dad via car in one day—Asshole put all my food (I had bad stomach issues then) I needed. The last nice thing he ever did for me. After Gram’s eulogy, I was sobbing and Dad caught me before I fell to the floor. I wasn’t faking. It wasn’t drama. I was crying for a world—the only world I knew—that was falling away.

“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” Revelation 21:4

I am not saying there will be no more tears. I think the worst may be over with though…

However, just because the patient is no longer Critical, doesn’t mean the patient can resume all normal activities. The patient is in Guarded Condition.

Father said that we all struggle in life—but not all of us stress. Well, that’s bullshit. But, I know what he was saying—that if we trust in God…Faith…all with be as it is meant to be. We won’t have to battle those waves—we’ll be beyond the breakers. The water is still hella choppy and can get rough—but we know…we have Faith…

In Mass last night a couple sat in the pew in front of me with their very young baby. She was beautiful with big blue eyes and a pink bow on her head. At first, I was like MAN. Why do you have to sit in front of me with your kid? She was so good though. We had maybe 10 minutes left and I whispered to her that it would be over soon. She kept looking me and I looked at her instead of concentrating on—no—I was concentrating on prayer is the most profound way.

I ain’t no Christ. HA. But if Jesus had been there—he would have looked that baby in the eyes like I did. That momentary connection…a connection with God. Dolphins, buffalo, wolves, babies, cats, dogs, horses—you are connecting with God’s creations (hence God) in the purest way.

Maybe the worst isn’t over. But…and I really, really, really hesitate to say this…I…

Compromise: I felt happy yesterday when I was arranging Barbie. Happy. I felt it. I didn’t fake it. I really felt it.

Fucking wow.

Tomorrow and Tuesday I work at the Burning Bed from 8 a.m. till 4 p.m. covering the front desk. Eww. I have to get up before nine—okay, I’ll be honest—10 a.m. I am anxious about the germs—but I don’t fear AS MUCH fucking up or getting in trouble. My fear usually runs at a 150 MPH plus—so we are down from that. Germs, eww.

Ash Wednesday this week begins Lent.

CD is an insidious motherfucker. He can play hide and seek on you…that’s his best trick ever. Leaving you alone and letting you think you feel better…then pouncing like a cat on a bird. But as least I know there IS another side.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: Angel just got up, stretched, turned around, and curled up to sleep again. Don't be expectin' no posts for the next couple of days. WTF, you say? I am gonna be up at like 5.30 or 6 a.m. That's like, uh, working!

Grateful For:

Angel

Amish pumpkin spice Danish bun

Spending the afternoon with Aunt Faerie at the Garden Room and then walking.

Dinner out with G-Pa

Health

I Live Here Now...

Dear Hearts,

It’s official. I am moved into G-Pa’s house. The Kate Sprawl has firmly gripped every “Kate Space” like ivy attaches itself to whatever it can. Then it grows.

Thirty-three Barbie dolls. Yup. 33. Too bad like only 11% of my collection. Yeah. I place my collection at somewhere near 350. Hey—I have been collecting over 25 years. I forgot how happy Barbie makes me. To be surrounded by Barbie makes me feel good.

A couple of men almost died last night. Well, only one. But I wanted to yell at the other.

G-Pa’s Driving Axioms

1.     I drive like a New Yorker (even though I say I drive like a low-cal Jerseyite) or Easterner

2.     There must be no traffic laws in the East and cops must just not care. The East is like Mad Max Thunderdome when it comes to driving.

3.     If I am driving I must stay under the speed limit or the cops will come after G-Pa. Not me. G-Pa. They will come after him.

4.     The cops in The Holy City are tricky and very strict. They don’t put up with Eastern Driving.

5.     You must stop at a STOP sign for at least 1 AND 2 AND 3 AND…

6.     You don’t yield the right-of-way to anyone else. Ever.

7.     If there is a car parked on the road and an oncoming car you must pull over. Even though there is enough space for you, the on-coming car, and the parked car, you must pull over because you must leave 10 yards between you a parked car.

8.     If you pull into an empty parking space and there is another empty one is front of you—you CANNOT pull through.

9.     G-Pa obeys all the traffic laws at all times and is the best driver ever.

10. Everyone has their “brights on”—the lights today are made differently than his Buick Century.

11. Aunt Faerie and Bugsy need to get reflectors on their driveway (and not that this has anything to do with driving, but G-Pa may just go over there one day and dig up that tree stump and cut down that tree that is going to fall onto the house at any moment)

12. Don’t stop for squirrels—just hit them.

13. You have to go into Walmart the same way every time. Every time.

14. “Right right here, to the left.”

15. “Turn at the next alley or road or secret passageway only locals know about

16. And, my E-Cigs will kill me while I am driving.

17. You must always take the longest “scenic” route.

18. My iPhone GPS is wrong.

So, I try hard to follow these rules. I CROSS MYSELF in saying this: I have never gotten a traffic ticket; I have never had an accident that was my fault (except that parked car that came outta nowhere—but I was 17); and no one has ever died while driving with me.

Last night, I thought I was doing so good in driving him to Aunt Faerie’s for dinner. I stayed below 30 MPH. I stopped 1 AND 2 AND 3 AND… at the STOP signs.

“Geez, Kate you rush to the STOP signs!”

“You mean, you want me to wait longer at them?”

“No, you go too fast in between them. You scare me. The cops will get you!” (And then him, presumably.)

“Okay, I am staying under the speed limit though.”

“It doesn’t matter, you will get a ticket.”

“I’ll try to do better.”

“Your Mother drives the same way. You can’t drive here the way you do in the East.”

“People have told that I do “short stop.” It’s a habit that I have had for over 20 years. I’ll try better.”

“You scare me. I think you’re not going to stop.”

I’LL TRY BETTER. That phrase needs to be struck from my vocabulary for-fucking-ever.

“Geez, Kate you rush to the STOP signs!”

“If you say so.”

“No, you go too fast in between them. You scare me. The cops will get you!” (And then him, presumably.)

“I’m going the speed limit.”

“It doesn’t matter, you will get a ticket.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Your Mother drives the same way. You can’t drive here the way you do in the East.”

“People have told that I do “short stop.” It’s a habit that I have had for over 20 years. Deal with it, Old Man.”

“You scare me. I think you’re not going to stop.”

“We all have shit in our lives. You wanna see me Jersey-Drive? Hold onto your skivvies! I’m a rebel without a cause!”

Oh, and I forgot to mention over dinner…

“Well, are making any progress on selling your house?”

He redeemed himself when we got home and I started unpacking my Barbie dolls that I’d brought from My House. He said, “those are real nice dolls.”

Yeah, he now has 18 in his living room, plus faerie figurines, Elizabeth The American Girl, Hallmark Ornaments, stuffies, and the little erasers shaped like food—I love those!

The TV that he always worries Dad (who is never staying here again—ever!) will burn out by watching, is now crowned with Barbie and Ken as “Prince William and Princess Kate” in their Wedding Attire. J-Lo is next to them.

He is oblivious to my smoking in the basement and he actually let me move in. T. never let me put anything in the living room. Even if we lived at  My House—I was to have no Barbies in the living room.

“Fuck you, T., you fucking drunk. Have a Listerine on me.”

I love G-Pa. I forgive G-Pa. Gram never even drove the car with him in it. Mom taught Gram how to drive! It’s not out of malice—but I DON’T HAVE TO SAY, “I’LL TRY BETTER.”

I have about 10 minutes left…and then I am having my coffee and cigarette before I go to Mass.

The man who almost died was Bugsy.

We got to Aunt Faerie’s house and went inside—he goes first, so I could back up the car and point it toward the driveway—because whenever he is in the car with me I just about “GO OVER THE LEDGE!!”

Poor Aunt Faerie has stepped in dog shit and walked around with it all day. Poor Aunt Faerie. No one noticed apparently. But, I can understand that just making her pissed off on a Friday.

She and Bugsy always pick up their dog’s poop right away. I mentioned how it was different for me growing up and living in Henry—we never picked it up.

Bugsy’s Dog Shit Axioms

1.     Even though he will never be on my parents’ property, 850 miles away, he will step in some shit we, or the deer, left behind.

2.     “RIP: Here Lies The Dog That Shit On My Lawn” is funny.

3.     He would shoot—yes, SHOOT (even he had a gun), a dog that shits on his lawn.

4.     If you kick a dog hard enough to break its ribs, it won’t shit on your lawn anymore.

5.     And “Why” did I find that “fucked up and fucking disturbing?”

That’s when I took the two Xanax and had a low-level-functioning panic attack. I haven’t had one for few days. So there is something.

Even if Bugsy is not serious about all that shit (no pun intended), it is still fucked up and disturbing that he jokes about it. (Sorry Aunt Faerie.) If Bugsy ever were to shoot a dog (he’ll never own a gun), there would be two hits. Saint Francis smiting Bugsy, and Bugsy hitting da’ floor.

I am off for my first cigarette of the day and coffee before Mass.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: Oops. I counted wrong. 34 Barbies. I forget Lady Camille who encased in and pretty box meant to hand on the wall. She is above my bed. The Barbies Gia and Johnny got for me for Christmas are in the basement in my Smoking Nook. J

Grateful For:

Barbie

Angel

Xanax

Living Here

Ice Cream (the bowl full I had last night was pretty fucking big—in yo’ face Michelle Obama!)

Of An Albatross And A Room Of One's Own

Dear Hearts,

I haven’t had a panic attack in a few days or seriously wanted to kill myself.

In Walmart tonight, there was a cashier who was badly burned and missing a couple of fingers. She was very chatty about her surgery—she couldn’t lift the case of water I got. She said that via Botox, essentially a poison, she may be able to get back the use of her hand.

“But,” she said, “I don’t know what I would do…I haven’t used it in five years. I am so used to not using it. How would I function?”

Is that how it is will CD (Clinical Depression)? When the Devil leaves…you don’t know what to do…how to live…because for so long…

That’s why I made My House into a prison after Asshole left. Because I was so used to the fear, I couldn’t stop fearing. Being with T. was mostly awful—but I wasn’t alone—and I understand subconsciously how to live with that Demon. Facing up to an ending career and an OD, a new normal…I didn’t know how to do that. But I knew how to live with the Abusive Devil. He always apologized.

Today, the gospel in the USCCB is

Mark 9: 41-50 KJV. The Church will never make me give up the KJV.

^“41 For whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong to Christ, verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward.

⁴² And whosoever shall offend one of these little ones that believe in me, it is better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea.

⁴³ And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched:

⁴⁴ Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.

⁴⁵ And if thy foot offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter halt into life, than having two feet to be cast into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched:

⁴⁶ Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.

⁴⁷ And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out: it is better for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire:

⁴⁸ Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.

⁴⁹ For every one shall be salted with fire, and every sacrifice shall be salted with salt.

⁵⁰ Salt is good: but if the salt have lost his saltness, wherewith will ye season it? Have salt in yourselves, and have peace one with another.”

I am not looking the verse up. The OAB (Oxford Annotated Bible) says that the verse is about the warnings of Hell.

I don’t think so. I have always wondered about this verse. Certainly, Christ doesn’t mean what he says literally—although some might say so.

We can create our own Hell right here on Earth.

If something gives you grief—get rid of it. That’s what came to me.

I have prayed and prayed and prayed and thought and thought about letting go of My House—trying to come to some sort of consensus, peace…But, it’s when you aren’t watching the kettle that it boils.

Has My House ever brought me happiness?

I was cared about OWNING it. Like, Dad cares about OWNING a Hummer (H1) he never drives.

I loved the idea of a six-bedroom house. I never like the road frontage, the condemned trailer across the way, the neighbors…I liked the idea of the rooms and all the things I could put in the rooms.

I think this is really it.

I think this is God really speaking to me.

My House never really made me happy—just the idea of it. I wanted to feel AT HOME there and I wanted to love it…like I felt about Asshole after his first psychotic break and T.

Fuck.

I want a Xanax or two and a cigarette. It’s scary not having panic attacks—because they will come back. I digress. Forgive me, God.

There would be so much less financial pressure in my life if I just let My House go. The albatross was penance for the mariner.

I think I have done enough penance. Have I?

^“And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off…”

This doesn’t mean I am all hunky dory with letting go of My House, but I think this is a step…a HUGE ONE.

Virginia Wolfe of whom I was never a fan-–all stream-of-consciousness writing and words, words, words—but maybe her Demons, not her Demons did not leave her alone either. She walked into the ocean. She got CD

“A room of one’s own…”

Not six, not five…just one…

I have to cut without bleeding out though…

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: Thank you, God, for talking…

PPS: Can houses just be bad? A soldier or refugee wouldn't want to continue to live in a ravaged city...so why do I...?

Grateful For:

Health

Family

G-Pa

Angel

Cigarettes