Dear Hearts,
On my desk there is this cheap plastic pyramid that is sort of like a snow globe, only it’s filled with golden sparkles. The pyramid itself is architecturally correct and then inside, with the golden flecks is a smaller pyramid, a sphinx, an Egyptian Pharaoh’s head. Ultimately there is a cylindrical hole to hold a pen or pencil.
I love it. It been on my desk since maybe 2002 or 2003. Arthur got it for me as a Christmas gift. He knew I loved funky, kitschy collectibles like that.
The golden Egypt, recently, has been making me sad. It reminds of…
So I put it under my desk.
Running yesterday and talking to God—
I am starting to shake
I had a revelation.
There were good times with Arthur. He did love me. I did love him. He was deep down a good man. He is just seriously mentally ill. I was loved and did return that love. I am going to keep the pyramid on my desk.
T---I don’t think he ever loved me because he is not capable of love. If you need that much alcohol .3+ in your bloodstream just to function, you mentally damaged. I don’t know what lies he told himself or how he convinced himself he was in love with this broken woman. After my OD, he kept me alive. Right or wrong, snake oil or not, what he sold me and what I bought, kept me alive.
“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”
I did. I was in the NY House. It was mostly packed up, but there were still things that I cherished inside. The house looked different. Bigger.
I can hear Angel snoring from under the bed.
I was leaving it, and looking back, feeling loss and mourning. There were good times in that house. Much like Manderley, it is haunted through the tragedy of its occupants. I saw something not of this world in the living room. Long story. Kinda funny. But, I am not going to tell that now.
Part of the reason I haven’t blogged is that I keep feeling like I have too much to catch up on so I put writing off another day. Also, I can’t write at work anymore. Maybe I needed a break too.
Demons. I know what I saw. An animal with preternaturally long legs holding something in its mouth. I saw a smaller animal speed down the stairs and off to the side. A mouse on the molding. Two orbs of light. And the whole upstairs entrance flashed bright light in total darkness. It was October 31st. The night where the veil is thinnest between our world and the other we don’t normally see. I know what I fucking saw. Dad believes me. Something tripped the motion sensor alarm. And that mouse—not even close to being at the height of the motion sensor.
With no one and nothing left in the house to ward off Evil—Evil has come into the house skip, frolic, and play.
As of December 9th, 2017 that house is no longer my problem. The bank is taking it back. All of my beloved things are safe with Mom and Dad or here.
I have changed my name with Social Security, so the deed of that house is the last thing that has my married name on it.
Oh, Great Auntie who called the day and has made it her life’s work to make other people miserable and knows exactly how to go for the jugular with my grandfather—it’s none of your fucking business why I, at 40, living with your brother whom you’ve disavowed so many times, Gram didn’t even like you. And Gram liked everyone. I read your letters. You are fucking cold-blooded-cunt.
All the former things of my life in NY have passed away. No, that’s not true. I still carry them. I will always carry them with me. They are part of me.
But, this life that I am making here, nary resembles the other.
Last night I ran by moonlight. You can actually do that in a town because of streetlights! In the country, once the sun goes down, it be black as pitch.
The half moon awed me. The purple, blue, pink, white clouds of the setting sun were magnificent. Even in the darkest of darkness…there is light.
In my running routine, I walk across part of this park. I look at the landscape. I don’t belong here. I abso-fucking-lutely belong here for now. But, this is not my home. I am and will never be a Mid-Westerner. For now…yes…I am. “Ich bin ein Berliner.”
I am running again and talking to God! Talking, like I used to. Wakan Tankan, the Moon Goddess, Buddha—they are all part of God, it’s just the path you choose to get there.
My job at Burning Bed has deeply disappointed me. The women who work there are mean, catty, gossipy saboteurs of each other. My heart broke when I realized that I cannot be friends with the people at Burning Bed. I can’t trust them. The petty politics and backstabbing that goes on to beat by a landslide the school’s politics I taught in.
Stay below the radar, I’m told. Don’t make a mistake. Be careful to whom you speak. I am just there to interact with the clients, talk to people on the phone who are going through a special kind of Hell only those survivors of domestic abuse can understand, and transfer phone calls. I like secretarial work. But, if this job makes me physically ill—if I have to work harder at politics than my actual job, then I am out.
Tonya, I am done seeking validation and approval from you. Fuck you, bitch.
My grandfather’s preacher said something in a sermon a few week ago (I hear the sermon replayed on the radio at full tilt when G-Pa listens to it on Sundays).
I paraphrase.
“What is it to love God with your whole being? Stop trying to please bosses, friends, parents—just please God.”
The preacher was not saying don’t stop and get a McDonald’s apple pie for your grandfather. The preacher was saying that if you live a life of love devoted to God, then everything else falls into place.
I don’t believe God tests you, but I think you have opportunities that can be a crucible through which you do or do not come. I am not going to bend to these people and apologize for who I am.
I was actually told that if I make a mistake, hide it, otherwise, everyone will talk about that mistake for like a week. Wow. Fuck. At a domestic abuse shelter? And the Sexual Assault Department is in competition with the Domestic Abuse Department. The front office staff resents the management and college degrees in the back. No words.
But, I am doing good there. And when I am not being yelled at, I like being there. Next time, bitches—I won’t be so ingratiating.
I have no friends. I feel lonely. It’s hard living with G-Pa sometimes. Really hard. But, I have my room. And Angel. And my cross stitching. And my drawing. And I don’t dread work every time I go in. (Yet.) I miss the East Coast and my family.
But, for right now, and maybe for quite a while, this is where I belong.
A year ago today Dad and I had the Buffalo Hunt. I touched the Face of God. That experience changed me forever.
I have a Wolf Heart now. She still cries now and then and then again—but she also growls and howls. Sometimes, her howls are as mournful a voice in the desert. But, still howls.
A year from now…I can’t see through the mists…I Hope and Pray God can…
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 Ailbhe; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.
Grateful For:
Sweet treats
Faith
Naps
Cream cheese and a bagel
Angel
Family
Health
And, "she got a gun she call The Lucky One."
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