Mass Hysteria

Dear Hearts,

Make no mistake, the Korean Crisis, as the media has dubbed it, pales in comparison to the Mass Hysteria going on in Mom and Dad’s House. Kim Jong Un would run from this house crying his little baby-man-child eyes out. Trump might threaten “Fire and Fury,” but his hair would come undone from its mold and he’d yelp like a Chi-Chua facing down an angry Rottweiler.

Mass Hysteria. And, Mass Chaos.

I am, no pun intended, not going to Mass tonight because I am all a-storm. I have spent cumulatively two hours in the last two days obsessively looking at futons and child size beds. Like six inches is gonna make a difference.

That’s what she said.

The yard stick, with which I was measuring to see what 27 inches look like, is jutting up from the rocking chair that holds my cross stitch and drawing.

Dad dreamt he was in high school or college last night and got a C on a paper and had to redo it. Actually, for him, a C on paper would be pretty good. I toured the White House with T and listened to all his lies about whom he knew and how I could stand with Ronnie and Nancy had. The night before Kate Middleton laughed at me because I was such a loser.

I just made 16 ounces of coffee? WHY? I drink 12 at most. But after I had made the extra for the coffee-ice-cubes I had a little less than 12 ounces, so I made another six. I don’t know why. My Flonase spray I put the tip under my upper lip this morning. It sprays into your nose. I ate two little peppermint patties and ended up with two perfect chocolate dots on each boob. I introduced myself to the new Priest in the Holy City, via Facebook, and put my address online. The Priest erased it for me.

Mom applied for a one-day-a-week job. We did her 20 year old resume and cover letter together. I am good at slinging the academic rhetoric…”I understand the importance of creating a cohesive environment that will ultimately lead, through rigor and support, to the success of each student.”

I am starting in on an episode. And, this is my last day of furlough. Tomorrow, we go to the House for two nights. Keep 10 percent of your house and box the rest up.

I can’t breathe. I can’t get perspective. I try. I can’t get out from under this…this…this…storm.

“…Be of good cheer; it is I; do not be afraid…And when they [Christ and Peter] were come into the ship, the wind ceased.” Matthew 14: 27, 32

At my College there was a beautiful rotunda with images of Christ—I know that two of them depicted Christ as the shepherd and Christ in a boat calming the seas. I used to sit on one of the marble benches circling the rotunda and just gaze at those images. Even when I was a heathen.

This may be totally self indulgent and just plain selfish…put in putting my things away—all those things that make me feel like a place is home…my family talks about how I will just have to deal with this stuff in 20, 30, 50 years. Is it assumed that I will never have a house and life where all my Barbies and books can be visible? Will I ever have a house and life like that?

I just want…Peace.

Mom bought me another strawberry frozen yogurt treat today. Oh, she was good. She wanted me to meet her friend’s daughter who had something for her mother and Mom is going to see her friend before her daughter. It was a mid-way swap deal. I offered Mom, last night, to meet the woman after Mass. Mom offered to meet her this morning after a Church meeting “that was a total waste of time.” When I heard the time had changed to 1.45, then 2.00, then 2.15…I said no.

In that voice that only Mothers have—that voice that gets their toddler to amicably eat the peas—it’s a soft voice with just a touch of pleading and the telepathic ability to remind you of what you owe your mom

Mom said, “You wouldn’t do that for me? You can get frozen yogurt.”

Of course, I would do that for her. The frozen yogurt sealed the deal—but of course I would do that for her.

My parents have done so much for me. They subsidize my life. My life BEFORE seems like a dream about someone else.

Mom, Dad, and I just holler and yell and fuss and fight and talk and hug. We are all so stressed. Mom was begging to just have time to do housework today, which I perfunctorily (didn’t really mean it) offered to help her with.

I want my couch and my bed and all my Barbies--

YET, I would rather have this life that I have now, than the life I had before when I was married and would have been at this time of year totally DREADING going back to school.

Yes, as much as this is a nightmare—it’s better than the lie I was living.

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: Why do I feel guilty for not reaching the 1,000 word mark? Because with no one around to berate me and make me feel bad, somebody has to do it.

PPS: Kimmy—fucking bring it.

PPPS: One word Bugsy about my tattoo and I will round-house kick you in the gut.

PPPPS: Aunt Faerie, I so wish I could have been with you on your secret getaway yesterday. I fondly remember all those times we had tea in England.

Huh, reached 1,000 words.

I am going to pack, run and pray, shower, have chilled coffee, my first cigarette, and gird my loins.

The Heart of a Wolf

Grateful For:

Frozen Strawberry Yogurt

Health

UC Remission

Family

Faith

Running—yes, I am running

Coffee

Cigarettes

Buffalo meat balls

I don't like giving myself laurels, but during my second Episode last night, I sketched a wolf head from a picture of a wolf. It doesn't suck. I am going to make sure that my Tatt Artist knows exactly what kind of Wolf Heart I have. Mom was really kinda impressed.