Ramblings of a Single Mom

[Gypsy]

There are going to be some more changes, around here.

I need three large men.

I have rapidly come to the conclusion that my computer desk being in the living room is NOT NOT NOT going to work out any longer. It's no longer a matter of "well, I can do email and still be in the living room with the kids". It's a matter of "I need my computer and desk in a place where I can think straight and uninterrupted for more than 47 seconds at a stretch, now, for the love of God."

I have to rearrange my bedroom to make room for this HUGE antique secretary's desk. And it's made of real wood, not that compressed crap, so it's H E A V Y. I will not be able to do this job by myself, not even with the kids' help. Even with the drawers taken out and the legs removed, it's a ballbuster for two grown men. So, I need three grown men, and I'll take the fourth corner.

Question is, where does one shop for such men? And how much do they cost?

I've been on three work-study "interviews" thus far. Everyone is waiting to see who else/how many people will show up to apply. Apparently, I'm the only one beating the bushes just yet. The first to show up to all three, in fact. I'm not even going to say where they are, simply the obvious: on campus. Beyond that, I'm shutting up. And waiting. Hurrrrrrry up and wait. Everyone needs someone yesterday, and everyone is waiting to see if someone better shows up.

Classes are great. I even survived the first "real" Icky Math class without falling asleep. I don't even want to talk about that class. Next.

Took a pre-test in Writing today. Some of the questions asked about things I'd never even heard of. I'm assuming I'll know the correct answer to those by the end of the semester. The instructor is someone who taught high school in a little town I once lived in. Ahhh, so that explains why he seemed vaguely familiar to me. Nice enough guy, all excited about retiring from teaching and taking on some other form of employment for five or ten years. He's amusing. Since we had some common ground in our history, we chatted for about ten minutes last week. During that chat, I managed to grin and grouse about the fact that not only had we not begun any writing assignments - or even reading for that matter - but he'd informed us that we wouldn't do so until this coming Friday. In class today when he passed out the assignment schedule, he pointed out the in-class writing we'd be doing Friday. He nodded at me, and said "There ya go" with a smile.

I am stunned to learn (by reading ahead in our textbook) that apparently, in '96 (or thereabouts) it was decided to remove three letters from the spanish alphabet. The ch, ll, and rr are formally and officially gone. You can do that? Just...decide to change the alphabet? Baffling. I've sung the alphabet in spanish to amuse myself for 22 years, I'll never be able to change it in my head. I keep trying to skip those three letters, and I stumble and forget where I am. I also keep saying "llamo" when I should say "llamas". And he's teaching informals, whereas I'd only learned formals before. It took me until the end of the first class to get brave enough to ask the instructor whether I remembered wrong or was taught incorrectly. "Como te llama? Te? Uhmm...I thought it was se?" He seemed surprised I knew only the formals. I'm more comfortable using "Usted" in a sentence than "te". Oh well, I'll learn it. It's what class is for, right?

The girl who sits next to me apparently never had spanish class at all in high school. We were doing dialogues in class, and she couldn't pronounce "muy bien" at all. Mmmm+we byen. I suddenly felt a lot better about the whole te/tu thing. Also, there is a very very pretty and extremely sweet girl named Clare who sits in front of me. She won't tell us her real name, says it's too hard for Americans to pronounce. She has a halting grip on english, now she's trying to tackle spanish. "Me llamo Clare, soy de Hong Kong." COOL.

Although it should be totally illegal for anyone that teeny and adorable to sit anywhere near me, because she's a total sweetheart I hereby forgive her for making me feel very old and very large in her presence.

HISTORY. I paused outside the door my first day, took a deep breath, and thought to myself "Self, you're going to walk in this room with an open mind, ready to be filled. Instead of being bored, you're going to learn things you never knew. So relax, enjoy it, work hard, and it'll all be okay. You're going to do well, so stop being afraid."

I am actually surprised at how much I truly am enjoying this class. I might hate the tests when they come, but class... the time flies. It seems like we barely sit down and get started before it's time to go. I really like the instructor, he has an interest, a passion that is contagious for me. Currently we're assigned to write an essay on the Atlanta Compromise speech given by Booker T. Washington. Forgive my dumbass-edness, but I always wondered just what it was that Booker T. did that was so great that he got schools named after him. Durhhh...Yeah, I could have looked him up long ago. But I wasn't exactly enthralled by history, so I never did. To be this interested now is not only a pleasant surprise to me, it sort of gives me goosebumps. While in this instructor's class, I actually FEEL like a sponge.

One other thing about this instructor that I find interesting. On his syllabus, it said NOTHING about writing essays at any time during the course. He added that the first day of class, had us pencil it in. His exact words were "You get to write for me." He was looking directly at me when he said it.

Two of my instructors were on the appeals committee. I know this because I peeked through the little window in the door a few times that day. One of those two ended up being one of the people who helped me choose my classes, though I didn't know who he was at the time. I strongly suspect he deliberately placed me in his class. Maybe it had something to do with the KitKat I gave him?

I'm finding myself oddly surprised and confused. I thought my favorite classes were going to be Writing first, then Spanish, then History. Math doesn't even equate with favorites. I adore spanish class, but history has already stolen a place in my heart of equal or greater value than spanish. I guess only time will tell how this will all turn out, and it's not like there are prizes for Favorite Class, but isn't it completely awesome when you think you're going to hate something - or at least be bored by it - and it turns out to be GOOD?

SUGAR-SNIT!
Remember that whole intuition/instinct thing we were talking about? And how your thoughts create your circumstances? Did an angel whisper in my ear to give that man something to eat when he was hungry? Something to think about.

Buenas noches.

 

[Gypsy]

I will remain calm, inside and out.

I will. I will. I have to.

I was telling Randy just a week ago that, although I'm very happy right now, I'm incredibly tense. Teeth clenching tense, all the time, although I don't really feel stressed out - which bugs me. I keep getting the feeling that something bad is going to happen, in minor anxiety-attack style. Waiting for that shoe to drop. Trouble sleeping at night, not resting well when I do sleep.

Two days ago, I ran into my ex mother in law. We exchanged words in Walmart parking lot, where I flatly stated my position in the situation with her son and my children. She, like everyone else, has been ostracizing my children in order to ostracize me, and has assumed I wouldn't LET there be any contact - without even trying. Including Christmas Eve, their family tradition of gathering at her house for gift exchange and dinner. My children were not invited this year, for the first time in their lives. It cut them to the core.

Yesterday, she calls for the first time in months, leaving a message on my callnotes. I called her back.

She sounded excited and happy as she explained to me that the Ex is in town for awhile, and wants to see the kids. I told her I'd have a meeting with them, find out what they wanted to do, and call her back. She immediately began trying to convince me to let them see their dad. I had to repeat three times that I wasn't making that decision, the children were.

She wants me to drop the kids off at her house for a visit with their dad. No. Fucking. Way. I'm not leaving my kids there, not even if their dad isn't around. Not anymore. The entire clan has proven themself untrustworthy where my kids are concerned, and I'm not about to leave them there unprotected from mental and emotional manipulation. "Don't you trust me to keep them safe?" I rolled my eyes and replied "I don't trust anyone. Not anymore."

She mini-exploded on me about that, telling me she'd never let harm come to her grandkids. I calmly stated "If you were so damned concerned about your grandkids, why have you not called or come by to check on them one single time since September? No one in the family has, except Jeremy - and there's problems with that, too. Everyone immediately circled their wagons around Henry, protecting him - which I understand. I know you love him, you care, you want to help him. But here's what I found out since September: I am the ONLY one to circle wagons around my CHILDREN. Their father is an adult choosing his actions. They are children, and they've had no choice but to deal with his choices...and they've been repeatedly hurt because of it. So, as their mother, it is my job to protect them from any further bullshit, and that's what I'm going to do. Trust anyone? Why should I? Everyone has proven that they're ten times more concerned with protecting poor Henry, who has made his choices and brought all this upon himself, than they are with the safety and well-being of two innocent kids who cannot protect themselves and NEED the adults in their life to step up and do it for them. Now, if you don't like how I'm handling this, I'm sorry, but I will absolutely do what I feel I must in order to protect my kids."

Of course, she became quite upset and hung up on me.

I called her back a bit later to tell her that I'd spoken to my kids, and my son wants to see his father, but my daughter does not. I'll meet with him so his son can see him, but I'm not leaving him ANYWHERE with anyone. I'm staying. Deal with it, or forget it. Call me after 9 AM today to set it up.

She wants me to bring the kids to her house so they can visit there. I'm thinking the best thing I can do, though, is to meet him at the police station, in the lobby. I know he'll not pull any stupid shit there, with cops all around. I'll take my backpack, and if I'm able to at all, I'll work on some homework while they chat. I doubt I get anything done, though. If at any point my son appears upset in the least, we're outta there.

I don't want to do this. I want to keep myself and the kids as far from the Ex as humanly possible. However, I know my son. If I refuse to let him see his dad, I know what will happen, and it won't just be for a day or two. He already has some problems dealing with anger - if I say no to this visit, those problems will intensify a thousandfold and for a long, long time. What that will mean is months upon months of severe social issues, failing in school again, and life here will be hell for everyone.

I plan to call the police station and tell them what's going on before we get there. I'm taking a copy of the restraining order with me. I know that by allowing this visit I'm breaking it myself, but I honestly don't know what else I can do at this moment. The boy misses his father, and wants to see him. Although his dad is a fucked up individual, he is not a convicted criminal.

I wish the man would just stay in Florida. I have the feeling the reason he is here is because he's been kicked out of his dad's house by his step-mother, and he's back in town long-term. I feel physically ill at the thought of him living so near again, but there's nothing I can do about it if that's the case. I can only try to remember the big picture, try to do what's best for my children and not necessarily for myself, and try to keep my shit together.

I took a St. John's Wort this morning, for the first time in well over a year. It is my hope that maybe whatever it is that this stuff does for a person will work a teeny bit of magic, and I'll be able to stop clenching my teeth. I cannot allow stress to overrun my life again. Not now. Not when I'm finally back in school, when I finally have a chance to change so many things for the better.

I know it sounds truly awful horrible, but I must confess... while I hope the man does nothing stupid today, I also equally hope that he does. Why? Because if he does, then my son will remember why all this has been happening to begin with, and maybe he won't want to see him again for awhile. His father is not ready to resume his place as Father by any stretch of the imagination, and the kid just needs to understand that. I don't want him to hate the man. I just think it's in everyone's best interest if everyone involved has time to heal without perpetuating the damage.

I'm scared, palm-sweating scared. Not for today, but for the ramifications that today may have on our future. God help me, I don't know what to do.

 

[Gypsy]

We're okay.

And I didn't mean to worry anyone, I'm sorry.

The meeting didn't happen. I spoke to my son this morning after he woke up, and explained why I was going to have the meeting take place at the police station. He immediately changed his mind about going.

Less than five minutes later, his father called to set up the meeting. I had to tell him that the boy had changed his mind. Part of me understands his anger at that news, part of me thinks "What the hell did you expect?"

I feel better, and yet awful. I know he wanted to see his dad, I saw his eyes light up for an instant when I told him he was in town. I despise taking that away from him. He deserves to be able to visit with his dad without all this bullshit and worry, without having to remember that the separation is because his dad is in a mess of his own making.

And yet part of me is so hugely relieved, because I didn't have to let his father back into our physical lives, today. I wish he weren't in our state, much less our town. I wish it had been possible for me to pack up and move to a neighboring town as soon as he left. I wish I'd had the money to pay the filing fee and get full custody of the kids. Now that he's back, the hopes I'd had of accomplishing several things are endangered, if not completely nullified.

Yes, it's money that makes the world go 'round. If I'd only had the money to file for custody immediately, if I'd only had the money to move right away, I wouldn't be all that concerned right now.

The beautiful freedom from his particular brand of stress that I've been enjoying is gone. I feel like I've been cruelly teased, somehow.

Regardless of what happens, I won't let him take school away from me. I won't let him stress me to the point that I can't function, or to the point I fail. And I'm going to do whatever is in my power to keep these kids safe.

God help us, because that's about all the help we've got from their father.

If you pray in any form to any entity, be it a god or the universe itself, please pray for us that he'll leave again, and stay gone until his head is on straight. Or at least until I can fix it so that he can't mess with our heads like this anymore. Believe me when I say that our life is plenty stressful enough without him adding to it by being nearby, causing us to worry about kidnappings or "accidental" meetings, without us being a local call so he can easily harrass us, without us getting constant reports from a slew of relatives saying "Oh poor Henry, you shouldn't do this to him." We don't need the tension, the stress, the guilt-trips. We don't need to know how many times this week he's threatened to kill himself. We just don't.

Even my daughter was yelling as she cried this morning. "Tell him if he's going to kill himself, just freaking do it! Don't tell me about it! And I'm not arranging his funeral, so I don't CARE what music he wants played or what clothes he wants to be laid out in! And even if I did care, he's told me so many times I have it memorized - it haunts me! And now that he's back here, he'll never get well, he's just going to go right back to what he was doing before. It's NEVER GOING TO END." With that she ran to her room and slammed the door.

All this before breakfast.

I have to go try to get some sleep. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the less sleep under my belt, the worse things get. And I have to leave extra early tomorrow, because I have to put my car in the shop on the way to school. Some of the stuff that's wrong with my car is getting fixed tomorrow, thanks to a couple of caseworkers. Yes, I'm still counting my blessings, even now. It's times like this I have to count the hardest, highest and fastest.

I wish I had someone to tuck me in and tell me everything's okay. I know it's going to be, but it would still be so nice to hear it, to be snuggled and made to feel safe and secure.

Guess I'll just have to do it myself.

 

[Gypsy]

I honestly have never been happier in my life.

Any idea what a joy it is to be able to say that in the moment? Not in retrospect, where you don't realize this is a happy time until things are much, much worse. Now. I see it, feel it, know it. Now. That's like...something amazing. I remember a time when I wouldn't have been able to see the happy for all the stress. And sure, there's still stress - plenty of it. But... forget it. It's indescribable.

I can't begin to say how much I love school. Even Icky Math isn't really so bad. The minute I get someplace where I can sit down and do homework on Tue/Thurs, the first thing I do is all my math. This time it was four pages from the book, plus a take home test. Done! I made use of the time yesterday while waiting at school for the mechanic to finish working on my car and come get me.

I have a test in spanish tomorrow. I finally got the cd's for the labs yesterday, and sat down and did all ten labs that are due tomorrow (along with the regular homework). I studied so hard for the test before I quit at bedtime that I dreamed I was studying all night long. "Como se dice "exercise" en espanol?" Ejercicio. "Where is Bolivia?" Right there, next to Chile and Argentina.

There are certain words and commands that are determined not to stick in my brain. I'm fighting them tooth and nail, and by god I'm winning. I WILL ace this test. Mark my words.

Spoke to my Writing instructor today after class. I wanted to know what score he gave the assessment essay we wrote in class last week, but he informed me he won't be handing those back or discussing them. They exist strictly for him. Crap. I haven't written a proper essay in 20 years, I want to know how I did! "If you'd done very badly on it, I would have taken you aside and talked to you about it by now." Uhmmm... well, I wasn't worried I'd do badly. I just wanted to know if it was 'average' or 'above average'. He told me he couldn't go over it with me because he'd have to go over them with the whole class and he isn't going to do that. But he did have enough pity on me to admit "It was strong. Very strong." YAY!! The idea that I might not be good enough to excel in this writing class, that I was out of my league, has plagued me.

We've just started another chapter in History. When we finish this one, we'll have a test. I'm worried...I've sucked at every History test I've ever taken in my life. I guess how I'll do will depend on the format of the test. I've always just frozen on tests, for some reason, when it comes to things like history and geography. Luckily, class attendance and participation will help my grade a bit if I blow the test. I hope he hands back our essays tomorrow - I want to know what I made. Tonight my biggest task is to study more for the spanish test, but also to read that chapter in history and take notes before class. I love this class, but I worry about my grade.

Honestly though, I love school. I know it's going to get tougher, but I am so damned happy that I'm annoying to people around me. I guess what really makes it so awesome is that I know WHY I need to know this stuff, now. Although I loved school back-when, when I hit that extra-hard patch of life (in between "hard as hell" and "oh shit, this sucks") I lost my focus, my desire, my ability to even think, really. And once I started falling behind, it went to hell fast. I just didn't have the strength (or the desire to have the strength) to pull out of the spiral.

I'm determined that that will never happen again. No matter what happens, I know that succeeding in school is my top priority, because it dictates my success in everything else. I have the focus, the drive, the dedication to make it happen, and nothing is going to stand in my way. Not even you, Asshole Ex. The only life you're fucking up now is your own. Nyeah!

My car had approximately $600 worth of work done to it yesterday. It still has issues needing fixed, but my brakes aren't growling metal into metal anymore. My axles aren't popping every time I turn. And it shifts properly - glory! I'm less worried/nervous about driving it now, and that matters a lot.

A dear friend of mine from jr. high and I see each other for at least a few minutes every day at school. I have to laugh, truly I do. We talked for over an hour the other day, and 99% of it was about school. I remember us at 13... I look at us now... and I have to ask: "Who'd a'thunk it?" *giggle*

It's amazing, how things change. It amazes me how much she and I still have in common. Not necessarily the stuff from back then (although Marlboro's and Mt. Dew are still there), but the new stuff in our lives has a similar pattern. We think a lot alike. Act a lot alike. And you know something? Here's a revelation that hit me last night: I genuinely like her. I admire her, respect her. I still WANT to be her friend. And most of the things I truly like about her, I see in myself. Loving her, respecting her, enjoying her.... it's like feeling all that about pieces of Me.

Maybe that only makes sense to me. But I have to say, it was a wonderful good warm fuzzy feeling to realize that I wasn't envious of those traits in her because I don't have them. I recognize that I admire them, and also that I have them myself. I like myself. I respect myself. I believe in myself. And I deserve joy.

I've come a long way, baby.

 

[Gypsy]

Tonight I am cheating

Instead of cleaning house or doing homework, instead of studying or doing something productive, I am doing... nothing.

About the time I got to History class today, I started to feel tired. Too tired. I put it down to stress, worrying about the test. I studied my ass off for it, studied HARD. So hard, in fact, I seriously made my brain ache. And still I felt unprepared, still I worried that it would all fly right out of my head. And I think some of it did. Out of 41 questions, I'm thinking I missed around six or eight, and that's too many. Plus the essay - I think I really blew it.

Ugh.

After History, I made my way to math, feeling like I'd been up for three days straight. What the hell? I went to bed by 10:30 last night, got eight hours of sleep... I shouldn't be tired like this.

In math, I nearly fell asleep three times. I wasn't bored (well, not too bad), I was sleepy. When the class finally ended, I dragged my ass down the stairs, and had to take a break before heading down the hill to my car. I was that tired.

When I got home, all I could think about was how much I wanted to slip into comfies and sleep on the couch. I pretty much did that, except for one small thing - my daughter didn't walk through the door at 3 pm. I waited and waited, getting worried. Then I realized why, and felt so stupid. She had band practice today. I had to pick her up at 4:30. Shit. Didn't dare fall asleep, I wouldn't wake up on time.

So I headed to the kitchen and put the chicken in the oven for supper, and watched Alex and Emma (I think that's the name of it?) on tv. For some reason, that movie just appealed to me hugely. Not so much the undercurrent running that turned it into a love story so much, but the fact that they sort of wrote that novel together, in a way. And wrote the ending together... oh never mind. All my brain cells aren't firing properly at the moment, I feel like I just woke up or am half-stoned. Too hard to think, to articulate.

Anyway. My glands are swollen, my neck and throat hurts. I ache all over to lesser degrees, and my headache keeps begging for ibuprofen. I'm way, way too tired. My daughter looked at my throat and said "Uhm, Mom, bet you anything you're coming down with strep." Holy shit, please don't say that. I don't have the time for it.

So I'm seriously considering bailing on Writing class tomorrow and staying in my pj's. I feel like crap. If I'm better in the morning I'll go of course, but if I'm not better I'll likely be worse. Joy.

I already emailed the instructor asking him to confirm/clarify our assigment for tomorrow, just in case. I'm hoping after a brief nap the cobwebs will clear a tad and I can finish my narrative essay. I finally figured out not only a topic that works, but a brilliant twist that will give Mr. S. the "something else besides the story going on" he wants. Oh, and how. I'm actually a tad pissed that I can't just sit here and do it right now. I know when the man reads what I've written (and what I intend to write, of course) he's either going to be baffled by bullshit or blinded by my brilliance. I'm hoping for the latter, of course.

I'm waiting to take pain relievers until I see if my temp goes up. I've noticed over time that I usually run a temp of 99 when people with the same illness and symptoms as myself are running 103 or more. I find it...odd. I know fever is tied to the body gearing up and fighting off the sickness. I was advised more than once a while back that one of the reasons most people get as sick as they do as often as they do is because they pop Tylenol at the first sign of a temp, to bring it down. But the body NEEDS the fever. You don't want it *too* high, but a bit of fever is a good thing, when you're sick.

In fact, come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I ran more than 100.0 or so. I know I had to have had a temp in the last three years...but every episode of illness I think about, I remember wondering if my digital thermometer was dead. Actually, when I'm healthy it's a bit lower than the typical norm, so that probably explains it. My "normal" temperature is about 1.5 to 2 degrees less than the standard "norm".

Yeah, that's it.

Anyway, there you have it. Tonight I veg out, rest, relax, put the books down and ignore the laundry. Tonight I pop in a favorite movie and wrap a blanky around me and just... be. I feel so guilty, but I also feel like if I don't just relax and recuperate, I'm going to fall over.

Can't wait to find out how I did on the History test.

The couch is calling.

 

[Gypsy]

Moving right along.

I'm feeling MUCH better. Yay! But now my daughter is sick with whatever I had. NO! She's going to be staying home alone today while I go to school. This bothers me immensely, and yet if I miss school today to coddle her, I'll not only have to make up a math test, I'll miss tons in history - not to mention he's handing back those tests today. I MUST know what I made, it's driving me crazy not knowing how I did.

Stopped by the history instuctor's office yesterday to have him sign an attendance record for me. We had about a fifteen minute chat about...stuff. I don't have time to really record this conversation, but let's just say it had to do with my stressing over that test. He informed me I'd likely overstudied for it, and that while he wasn't advising I slack off, that I needed to not stress over tests so much. At the end of our discussion, he told me "You have the desire, the maturity to do well. But you're freaking out worrying that you don't have the aptitude. Don't look at me like that, I know that's what I'm seeing on your face, this isn't my first year teaching you know. Stop worrying. You have a high aptitude, trust me. You're going to be fine."

As I left his office, I savored his words. In fact, I wanted to jump into the air and punch the sky while yelling "YESSS!" heh

I've been analyzing Reign of Rum, a chapter from a book I've never heard of, for homework in his class. We have to write an essay on it. The guy who wrote the book "speaks" in such a way that analyzing is necessary if my essay is going to be correct. I don't mind that, really, I just need some peace and fricking quiet in the house now and then to get it done. *sigh* I have one question regarding history: Are we ever going to study anything that doesn't depress me to tears?

My narrative essay for Writing is coming along. I wrote a sixteen page (double spaced) rough draft. Now I'm going back through it and tightening the focus, revising, and cutting out a lot of unnecessary stuff to find my essay. It's like whittling an elephant out of a stick. Gotta get rid of everything that isn't the elephant.

Dunsany, I think you would be more impressed with what I sent you if you'd read the rough draft. Thing is, you'd probably never have time to read *that*, so I didn't bother sending it to you.

My son is highly amused by the tidbits of spanish I pass on to him, at times. I informed him the other day that he was "mijo", a shortened version of "mi hijo" - my son. He asked what his sister was, and I told him "mija". He died laughing because, to him, that sounds like a donkey braying. Oh, the things we can find to laugh about in this house.

It's been raining a lot lately and I still don't have those tires on my car. Driving on baldies makes me nervous. :bleagh:

My jr. high best friend (K) and I are becoming quite close again. Or maybe it's just that we're rediscovering how easy it has always been to be friends. We have things in common from our childhoods that make it very easy to understand one another. And we have similar personalities, similar beliefs, and very compatible sense of humor.

She's working on a letter to her mother, and has asked for my help. This is for two reasons: I know her well, I know her mother. I can identify easily with what she wants to say. And, not to pat my own back, but she says that while she can write down what she's thinking and what she feels, she cannot do so in such a way that her mother will read past the second line...but I can. So this weekend, she's going to come over, and together we're going to construct a letter to her mother that, hopefully, will touch the woman's heart and make her see a new perspective. I hope it works.

It's already past time to get in the shower and get moving. I had hoped to make time to read a bit of the history chapter before class today, but alas, no. I'll be glad when there's some nicer weather. When it isn't dreary and raining the kids tend to go outside to hang with their friends, and I can think straight for more than ten seconds before being interrupted.

I still need some big strong men to come move this desk into my bedroom. That would alleviate a lot of stress for me - especially while I'm trying to write for school. Any volunteers?

 

[Gypsy]

I'm over the flu, but my daughter caught it and has been miserable. She seems to be well on her way to kicking it, now. The boy should be horrid puny by tomorrow, by my estimation. Ugh.


The car is broken. Badly, I might add. Something about a locked up bearing in the pressure plate of the hydraulic clutch. Also, in my attempt to make it home after this little diagnosis run to the shop, I think I might've broken the linkage. The car is stuck in second gear. When you start it, you have to floor it to get it to not die, because the clutch doesn't disengage at all. If you don't floor it, it chokes and jerks and shudders and takes three tries to die. Imagine how fun that is during "rush hour"? Yeah. Nearly rear-ended a few people before the linkage (or whatever) did it's lil breaky-thing. OH. While I've figured out that it's 2nd gear the car is stuck in, the actual shift stick is in NEUTRAL. Somewhere in the neighborhood of $400 oughta fix it.

Excuse me while I go pull my hair out, will you?

Both my children went to church tonight, which gave me two whole hours to read my history book. I need to read another two hours. I also need to do some spanish homework. I also need to finish that narrative essay. I think I'm going to cry. But I won't. It'll all work out. Somehow.

Did I mention I got an A on that history test? :up:

I wasn't going to do this, but I'm going to post the first three paragraphs of my narrative essay here. These paragraphs were four and a half pages of description of my car accident in the rough draft. I was originally planning a particular ending...but in true Gypsy style, I didn't end up there. So, I had to redirect and refocus... and of course, condense. I think I did a pretty bang-up job of it, but maybe that's mostly because I saw the rough draft. In any case, whatever the reason, I happen to really like these paragraphs. I can imagine myself reading them later on, and being cheered up by the knowledge that I wrote them for my first graded assignement in College Writing. *grin*



I could tell you everything about the accident. I could tell you how I saw the old man, how I knew what he was about to cause before he even entered my lane- or how I laid better than fifteen feet of rubber trying in vain to prevent it. I could tell you how the airbag first nearly broke my arm and then almost choked me to death with its toxic chemical smoke. I could give you minute detail on how I fought first to open a window I couldn't reach with my good right arm, then to shove desperately on my door - all while holding stale breath in lungs screaming for release. I could describe how I felt oddly stoned, how the world was moving entirely too fast for me to fully comprehend anything much, because my internal clock had begun moving in slow motion.
I could tell you all about how everything seemed so surreal, seemingly wrapped in gauze, cloudy, out of phase with my own body because of mental shock. But to say that leaves out volumes. The shock was much more than just experiencing a car accident, so much more than just the pain or fear of that moment. It was a nightmare come to life, a bitterly painful memory and barely forgiven time of my childhood come full circle to haunt me in a way I'd always secretly feared it might. God knows I had maintained my car in a way that was slightly phobic - trying in the only way I could, using the only control I had, to keep my vehicle and all its occupants safe at all times. Perhaps that's why it happened. Maybe I needed to walk in those shoes I detested in order to better understand, so I could forgive and let go of the anger and pain. Maybe I needed to find out I was no better than that which I judged. Who would pay the price for this lesson, though? Me? My mother? My children?

Yes, I could describe the accident to you, in more detail than you want or need. But the accident itself isn't the lesson I learned, it's only the catalyst, so at most my description would show you my physical condition, my emotional state at that moment, my fear of the test I already knew was to come, and my petulant anger over what I'd lost. So, I'm not going to tell you about it. The real story must be told, for there is a message in it that someone needs to hear - a message of lessons learned, forgiveness found, fears conquered and humble pie eaten. But it was never the accident which was important, so let's skip that part, shall we?

 

[Gypsy]

My brain won't sleep unless I write.

So, Amy, you still read this thing? Just checking.


I still don't have any big strong men to move my damned desk. No volunteers whatsoever. What if I offered up some steak n salad? Would that help?

Just doing some reminiscing tonight. It suprises me how much things have changed for me, even though everything's pretty much the same. I'm still broke as hell, in fact, I get broker every day. Still having car problems, in fact, I own a large blue rock now. Transmission is beyond repair - or at least beyond what I'm willing to PAY to repair. Forget it. I'm taking out a student loan (NO!) to buy one that will last a few years. I'm still dealing with the Ex and all his glorious issues. Still raising my kids the best I can, trying to instill in them the things I believe they need in order to be good, strong, intelligent adults with morals, values and all. I'm still writing in this journal, too.

I'm still me. Still Gypsy, the girl who talks too much and gets carried away too easily. I'm still full of passion and curiosity, I still become outraged at unfairness, and honor still means something to me. I'm still sleeping alone, and still terrified at the thought of changing that.

I've reconnected with old friends I trusted when I was younger, and come to find they're still the truest friends I ever had. I still only know the name of a single neighbor on my entire block, and I still don't like her much. I still don't know what I'm going to do about my son and his attitude about school and responsibility, but I still haven't given up. I still worry about bills, especially this year - the tax return won't provide enough for me to set aside anything for school clothes this coming year, or anything else for that matter. It worries me. Yes, I'm still a worrier.

I'm still a person who likes to see the depth of things, the varying shades of grey, and who always wants the answers to all her "Why?" questions. I still write *something* every single day of my life, even if I don't touch this journal for a week. I still think my father's mother is one of the most awesome women who have ever graced this planet, still wish I could have a closer relationship with my brothers, and still don't see my sister nearly often enough to suit me.

But I'm also happier than I've ever been in my life. I'm still annoyingly thrilled to pieces to be in college, excited over an A on a test, fascinated by what I'm learning, and grateful as hell for another chance. Though knowing just how difficult staying in college is going to be financially scares me half to death, I'm determined to focus not on those numbers, but on the numbers in my GPA. Still, with a useless car out front and only one day's worth of meat still in the freezer, the worry never leaves my thoughts for long.

I think about how I wrote in this journal when I first came here, and I realize how much that style has changed since then. It's in part because I'm less consumed by the angst I once clung to, in part because my ability to be so open changed two years ago. I miss the way it used to be, I miss being able to sit down and pour out the passion into written words. I miss the anonymity. I miss not being afraid of being found.

I guess I took that lesson more to heart than I knew. It struck me earlier this evening that although I'm reunited with long lost friends that I really do trust, not a single one of them do I tell everything to. I confide this thing to that one, and that thing to this one. Together, they are puzzle pieces that I keep far apart.

Is this how it's to be, then? Will I never speak all my true thoughts and feelings in one place, ever again? Am I always to be a bit hidden, a mystery, a secret that must be guarded? Will I never speak of love again? Or heartache? To be grown-up is to be stoic and strong... can I never be safe enough to be vulnerable again?

I suppose I'd rather be strong and safe than to be aching and open. But I do miss it, sometimes. I miss closing my eyes and letting my fingers fly over the keyboard, the words pouring through them, their mission to show someone - anyone - a bird's eye view of my innermost self in the only way I know how. I miss my words running free and unfettered, careless though it may have been. I miss the adrenaline rush of writing unafraid, sharing myself unabashed, the only freedom from the prison that has been my life that I have ever known. I miss it.

I'll learn all the rules of writing, and I'll use them to write, but it will never be the same. I think the closest I'll ever come to that which I long for will be if I find something outside of myself that I can speak of openly with passion and intensity. Then, maybe then, if I'm lucky I'll get just a taste of that which is now forever just out of my reach.


Oh, the stories I could tell. If only I could.

 

[Gypsy]

My first writing assignment did not turn out to be an A, as I'd been told by the instructor it would be. It only earned a B+, damnit. I was so pissed at myself I couldn't see straight for about five minutes.

I've gotten into the habit of writing in block style instead of indented paragraphs (hello, journal). So, before I printed my essay I had to go back and indent twelve pages worth of paragraphs. I missed one. Right there on the first page, too. Oh, that pisses me off.

On top of that, apparently my eyes just plain old glazed over when I was reading the rules for MLA style, because I did the damned title WRONG. I automatically set my title up the way I'd been taught to do years ago, but no, that's no good. MLA style doesn't allow for (double-)double spacing before and after the title. Nor is it to be bold. Ugh. If I'd had more time (without kids screaming in my ear) to focus on the essay, I might not have made those mistakes. It had been my intention to re-read it all one last time, and to re-read the MLA rules as well. But, in the end I was rushed, so I missed those things that a more leisurely paced proofreading would have caught. The only actual writing error I made was one comma splice. One freaking error in twelve pages of writing. It was an A, damnit, but now it's a B+. Well. I guarantee you I won't make the same mistakes again.

I have a history test AND a spanish test on Tuesday. I'm pretty much ready for spanish. I need to study more for history, though. I've been at it most of the day, though with many breaks. At this point, I'm considering having the phone just plain shut off.

So, I'm feeling all relieved because I took a highly stressful week and turned it into a bunch of accomplishments crossed off my list:

1. Applied for student loan (in three installments)(the application, not the loan itself). Check.
2. Filled out two different scholarship applications, wrote an essay for them. Check.
3. Finally got some truly good advice on how to write the darned essay. Check. (Thanks, S.)
4. Got my attendance log initial'd by every instructor on time, check.
5. Took it to my caseworker, discovered I'd forgotten to have any of them sign on the dotted line. Shit. Went back to the school, but all my instructors were gone for the day. So I spent nearly an hour asking I don't know how many people to just sign the damned thing already. Finally got someone who barely knows who I am to do it. Hell, the signature is only to prove that someone who works there knows for sure I'm enrolled. All the most obvious people refused because the signature lines said "signature of supervisor". I was pretty aggravated - no signature would have meant the loss of $50. Anyway, finally got it signed and drove back to the Career Center. Turned it in, got a new one. Check.
6. Found a buyer for my piece of shit Eagle Summit. Don't even ask how much I'm losing on this, it's depressing as hell. At this point, I just want it off the street before the city tows it and forces me to pay. I'm currently driving a '95 Buick LeSabre, but we'll see if that lasts. I'll have it put on the rack for a lemon check when the loan comes in. I'm not keeping it unless he tells me it just needs tires, brakes and shocks, possibly a battery and a tuneup. And a good detailing. If it's going to take any more than that to have it up to snuff, I'll pass. Even though I really like it. The motor is strong and quiet, the power is there. It's an automatic. And damnit, it's a step up from the Dynasty, much less the Summit. I want it to be worth investing in to fix up. I have a feeling about this, but I'm reserving decision until I get Larry Leeds to search for everything he can find wrong with it - including things that look to potentially break down in the next couple of years.
7. Finally got the spanish verbs we've been studying for two weeks nailed down. Ser, tener, llamarse, hacer, Check! (These are the same verbs I struggled with in high school, but never quite "got".)

My spanish labs were fairly easy, right up till the last one. I have to figure out what these people are saying in this conversation enough to fill in some blanks, but they're talking so frelling fast I cannot keep up. Funny, no matter how many times I yell at the cd player "Mas despacio, por favor!", they never slow down. I'm almost desperate enough to get in my car and drive to Las Margaritas to ask for help, I swear.

Did I mention, months ago, that I couldn't even try to play my beloved alto sax because my neck couldn't handle holding it up? I haven't touched the poor thing in forever. Now that I've had more time to heal and haven't been driving a stick-shift for at least a week, I thought...why not give it a shot? I borrowed my daughter's neckstrap (holy shit, but I need to buy her a good one) because I still only have a narrow ribbon doubled up and tied to mine as a strap. I played around with it for about fifteen minutes.

My mouth and cheeks wore out before my shoulders and neck started to hurt! YAY!! Can't even begin to describe how happy that made me. I know that this summer Alyssa will be able to teach me things she couldn't before - including at least one or two of her really cool solos. I look forward to that.

The kids aren't home because there's no school tomorrow, so they both asked to spend the night with friends. That means that instead of my ten minute breaks being spent listening to retarded cartoon crap, I can play on my sax. Joy!

I noticed my post count and view count just before I jumped to my last entry. The pattern caught my eye. The post count was 507. The view count was 49,499. That means that when I finish this, the post count will be 508, and the view count should be the same. Five-eight, four-nine. Five-four, eight-nine. It's meaningless, but the pattern was enough to make me go "Huh. Check that out." Never mind....

Well, I suppose those history notes aren't going to jump out of my book and into my spiral. I'd better get back at it.

 

[Gypsy]

Tgif

I haven't gotten my spanish test back yet, but I highly suspect that this time I scored an A. I even got the extra credit question right. VOSOTROS! hehe Okay, that means nothing to anyone but me, but whatever.

I found out what I made on the history test yesterday. I do believe my jaw dropped - I got a 100. Technically, I made a 90 on the multiple choice section, which is an A. But then I got a perfect score on the essay section, which brought the total grade up to 100. WHOOHOO! I've made 100's on tests before, that's not the hurrah part. The hurrah part is because A) I honestly thought I might fail that test, I felt so unprepared; and B) I set the curve. I've never set the curve on a test before. I've always gotten good grades in classes where the teacher didn't grade on a curve. If there was a curve, I surely didn't set it.

Yes, I'm being weird/dorky about this. NO, I don't care.

I informed my writing clas instructor this morning that I am a Professional Comma Splicer. He blinked, then realized I was laughing at myself. The test he gave us on Wednesday was super easy, and I made an A. However, I did not make a perfect score, much to my annoyance. When we looked over what we'd done in class today, I realized that on the ones I missed, three I called run-ons...but they were comma splices. The other one was a correct sentence that I felt needed a comma.

Shut up, Dunsany. I know, ok? Just shut it. ;Þ~

The upcoming contrast/comparison essay I have to write has to have at least one reference/parenthetical quote/whatever. Now, knowing that my topic is going to be me going to college then/me going to college now, I'm stumped as to how I'm going to pull that off. In fact, I'm stumped on the entire essay, period. I can't seem to get anything written down that works. It's due March 4th and I hate not having enough time to revise and proofread, so I HAVE to get something down on paper very soon. I'm just lost. I have to sit down and do this the hard way, I guess. I suppose I expected this problem. Probably explains why I hate this mode of writing.

My kid is heading out on a school bus at six a.m. tomorrow. The eighth grade jazz bands are heading to Springfield for competition, and I can't go. I wish I'd been able to get this car situation under control before now, because she's kind of scared. She and I would both be happier if I could be there to see her perform, but it's not to be. Ah well. She'll end up having big fun at the mall with her friends, without Mom there over her shoulder. That ought to make it all worth it.

Harley was here to eavesdrop on a conversation between his father and I on Monday. I have no idea which part of what I said to the man that affected my son so much, but I immediately saw a huge difference in his attitude. He was calmer, more polite, friendly, affectionate. The chip on his shoulder seemed to have fallen off, at least for awhile. I wish I knew what the magic words were. My luck being what it is, it's probably the part where I told his father that if the kids wanted to see him, I'd call and make arrangements for a visit. I did make the stipulation that I would not leave them alone, though. No freaking way would I leave their side, and that's that. I didn't specifically say so, but if the scenario arises (again), I will force him to meet me at the police station. It's that or nothing at all.

I probably shouldn't have said a few of the things to him that I did, but he just plain pissed me off. I did try to keep my tone less than evil, I didn't shout, and I honestly did try not to cuss -- but I lambasted him. Politely, considering he doesn't deserve any kind of respect from me.

In any case, my son has been a bit easier to get along with just lately, and I'm okay with that. Oh yeah, definitely.

My friend K and I have talked on the phone a lot in recent weeks. It's the strangest damned thing... if she dials my number from her house, it's a long distance call -- but when I dial hers, it's local. I can't make any sense of that, but I'm not going to call the phone company and complain. It's incredibly nice to have at least one close friend that I can call and talk as long as I want to.

My friend D stopped by last Saturday. She took me out for lunch, and we did a little shopping at Penney's. Well, she shopped and I looked. Anyway. It was nice to just get away from the house, no kids, no guys, no hindrance to girly conversation.

I'm anxiously awaiting the arrival of my student loan check. I want to get this car put on a rack, find out which direction I'm going, and go. This temporary fix isn't exactly ideal, seeing as there really isn't much of a grace period on the whole title and tag thing. Not when you're driving it, anyway. I'd try to take care of that right now, but I know I would have to have at least brakes before it could pass inspection, so I have to wait. Even if wanted to risk sinking money into something and not keep it, I just don't have the cash.

And my mother just called to say she'll be here around 3:30. So much for naptime. So much for all my weekend plans of housework and homework and studying. If mom parks her ass here, I'll spend two weeks trying to catch up. Catch up on housework, catch up on laundry, catch up on homework and studying, catch up on sleep. Please, let her be in a hurry to go home. I'm too tired for a mom visit, I'm just too tired.

Suddenly I'm famished. I hear a crock pot full of hamburger stew calling my name. Gotta run.

 

[Gypsy]

I'm so lucky, I should play the lottery every day.

Last Wednesday, I threw my lower back out. I don't mean I suffered a little twinge -- I'm talking extreme pain, inability to walk normally, inability to sit normally, inability to function much at all. I had to ditch school Thursday and see a chiro, but I didn't want to see the guy I've been seeing since my accident. He pisses me off when he comes *this* close to actually adjusting me and stops just short - and he's been doing that for months. No, I wanted to see someone who isn't about prolonging the pain in order to make more money from the insurance due to more visits. So, I had Randy take me to another guy he'd found fifty miles away.

This guy is awesome, I feel lucky to have found him. He did things for my neck and shoulders that have never been done before. He then put my lower back in, gave me a massage, did some ultrasound for sore/spasming muscles, generally made me feel a whole lot better. Problem is, my lower back went right back out the same day.

Friday I missed school again, drove back, and he put me in again. I've been instructed to use the ice packs, but in a different way than the last chiro told me to do it. I was also told not to use heating pads, but for a different reason than I'd ever been told. I've been icing my back as often as I can all weekend, and though I'm still sore, I know I'm still in alignment. I'm tense, I hurt, but it's getting better. Come hell or high water, I MUST go to school tomorrow. I'm panicking about how far behind I'm getting.

I'll have an extension on the paper that's due tomorrow in writing class, if I need it. I think I will, because this is the first time I've been able to sit here since Wednesday morning for more than five minutes. Gonna try to work on it in just a minute, though. I've already arranged to do a makeup test in History. I had my math teacher email my next homework assignment, which I did today. This is the second time I've missed math class, and the second time I've had to do homework by figuring out the "new" material by reading the examples given instead of having it explained. Ah well. I must've done okay last time, because I made a 100 on the test. As for spanish, well...I can only hope I can catch up. This chapter is jammed with all kinds of new stuff, and I'm just gonna have to find a way to get it learned.

In other news: My mom just left, having delivered a corner computer desk for my bedroom!!! It's in pieces at the moment, and I'm far from physically ready to start putting it together or rearranging two rooms of furniture, but I own a corner desk for my room! It cost me a tank of gas for mom's car, a whopping $20. Exceptionally good luck! She wouldn't have taken the money, but she hauled it around a bit before bringing it to me, and drove around 240 miles out of her way. I reckon it's only fair I pony up some gas money.

I'm so freakin excited I could just scream. Now I just have to get a decent chair with lumbar support, get everything put together and moved around, and run the cable down the hallway. Then, not only will I have things set up so I can do homework in my room away from the kids, the phone and the tv, but I'll also have more space in my living room. My friend D is already making googly eyes at my beloved antique desk, so I know that although it breaks my heart to let it go, it'll go to a good home.

It's time to streamline things. Out with the crap and arrangements that don't really work, and in with more space, better efficiency, and the ability to focus on homework instead of whatever is happening all around me. Did I mention I'm excited? The money I just saved on the desk will pay for a good chair!

Mom is also planning to give me her entertainment center and tv. Out with the old console model I own, which I KNOW the tube is about to croak in, and in with something more space-saving, newer, nicer, and that will allow me better options when rearranging the living room. I'M SO EXCITED! I'll be able to move my stereo back in here on the E-center, hook the Sirius up to the big speakers, move all our movies into the lower cabinet and get rid of this junky thing they're sitting on. I'll even be able to get rid of the similar junky cabinet thingy in my bedroom that's holding the overflow of movies and similar items.

I have mom searching for a jewlery box for me - the kind that you can actually hang necklaces in, the whole nine yards. I look forward to getting that when it happens, because it'll mean I can finally get rid of the box than the Ex gave me. I've wanted to get rid of it for five years, but buying myself a jewelry box isn't high on my list of priorities. However, if Mom happens to find the perfect thing, then it's perfectly acceptable for me to either give this one to my daughter or... something. Honestly, I'd prefer to just get it out of the house where I'd never have to see it again, but I'll leave that up to my daughter.

Oh. I'm not going to be keeping this car. The list of mechanical needs is bigger than I thought it would be, and I don't want to invest that much in something that's been wrecked. I'll find something else, something that needs little or no work. Although I must admit, I'll be prone to checking out Buick LeSabre's. Something with cruise and lumbar support would be lovely, although I doubt my budget is going to be big enough to accomodate such niceties. I'll settle for a mid-sized four door with good gas mileage, a little bit of power, working a/c, rear defrost, delay on the wipers, and a solid motor 'n tranny. Anything more than that is just icing.

Mom is planning to give me her usb hub so I can use the cute little keychain hard drive she's loaned me. Not a necessity, I can use floppies for school - but if she's giving it away, who am I to say no, right?

I still wish for Exceptionally Good Luck and Prosperity, every single day of my life. And you know what's weird? It seems like the more I accept from others without trying to give it back, the more I have given to me. Stuff I actually need is just showing up, either as a gift or so cheap that I can afford it. I needed a car, and one was handed to me to use for as long as I need it. I need a desk in my room, and here it is. I need more space, and I'm being given what I need to create the space. I think of all that has been given me in the last few months, and it almost boggles my mind. It all started with Christmas, and it just keeps happening.

An incredible woman lectured me on the telephone in such a way, using particular words, that it changed my perspective on accepting help and gifts. It was more than just difficult for me to do, but I did it. I didn't know what to say, and frankly, I still don't - but the fact remains that I bit my tongue when nature and habit wanted to say "No, I can't accept this." I'm sure there was an immense lack of grace noted by many, for I honestly have never known how to accept anything. The thing is, I don't think anyone can possibly understand the magnitude of accomplishment, the signal of change that Christmas represents for me in my life.

My friend Dale was here a couple of weeks ago, and noticed a few things around the house. He asked where they came from, and I finally had to tell him "it all came from friends of my journal", because I couldn't think of a more accurate way to put it. "I'll be damned" he said. I told him: "If I had kept the job and given up the journal, I'd have been doing myself a terrible disservice."

That wasn't bullshit. This journal and the people I've met because of it have enriched my life in a hundred ways - all of them a thousand times more imporant than money. I'm so glad that, when I had to choose, I chose the thing that does the most good for my life. The friends I've made have been supportive while I've gone through so much change, and so much frustration at what hasn't changed. The friendship, kinship and encouragment has meant more to me than any paycheck ever has. This journal is an amazing journey, and on it, I'm not only finding myself, but creating in myself the person I've always wanted to be. I'm lucky, and I'm blessed, for I have never been alone. I have had friends far and wide rooting for me every step of the way.

I'm so glad I came here, and I'm ever so glad I stayed.

 

[Gypsy]

I'm tired, my back hurts, and I just can't find my silver lining tonight.

My mother is coming this weekend. Possibly tomorrow, or maybe Saturday morning, she isn't sure. Well. I'll be sure and sit right here and WAIT for you to be ready to grace me with your presence, dear mama.

I'm not really mad at Mom, I'm just peeved because my own plans fell through. Oh well.

Math class was interesting, today. We finally got to the point where we're figuring percents, interest on loans and credit cards, stuff like that. The heads of several classmates practically spun 'round on their shoulders. So many are so baffled, it's disheartening. I don't know whether to feel smart because I "get it" or stupid because I'm in a "stupid class". Basic math, in college. I mean, what we're doing in class has finally started to catch up with my daughter's math level. But I'm a little confused, too. She's in Algebra 1/2, but when I showed her what I was working on yesterday, she was baffled at its alienness. I think next week when we're all home for spring break, I'll ask her to show me what they're doing in her class.

Went to the chiropractor today, got my hip adjusted again. Felt much, much better...for about two hours. FRELL. I don't think he's even in the office tomorrow, so I'm basically screwed to live with the pain until Monday. At least this time I know how it went out. This shit has GOT TO STOP.

I have no idea when I'm going to get my student loan money, but even if it gets to the financial aid office tomorrow, I'm screwed until March 28th. The loan will pay for my bills at school, because whatever gets there first will pay the bills at school, period. Unless by some miracle the scholarships get there quicker, I won't have any money in my hands before March 28th, when the Pell grants get disbursed. And even then, I think they're going to mail it - which will mean the first week of April.

This car won't make it until then without brakes, a fuel filter, and a TPS. Shit shit shit.

I'm going to have to give away this desk in order to make the needed changes in my house. I want to cry knowing I have to give my beloved desk up, but I also know that it's a hindrance I'm going to have to part with. I think for the moment, though, I'm going to set the stereo and speakers on top of it just so I can set my desk up in my room. I still have to figure out what I'm going to do with all the stuff IN my desk, anyway. The corner desk for my room doesn't have drawers. Sigh.

I'm tired. Not just tired-tired, but...tired. Tired of the game, the race, the stress, the constant balancing act that never ends. I only feel this way when there's too much in the air threatening to crash to the ground, and right now, there is. The juggling act isn't bad when it's a few things, but when too much gets added and some of them are dire and needing immediate fixes I can't provide, it affects me physically. I have midterms to study for, my mother coming for the weekend, a car that needs parts that I can't get my hands on money for yet, and an entire year of lump-sum bills I have no clue how I'm going to pay. Y por supuesto, there's Henry and that entire stupid situation that is still affecting my life. Still. Five years later, and I'm still dealing with this shit. I'm so fucking tired I just want to cry.

Never mind the shoes and socks and other stuff the kids need - that their father hasn't helped with at all since mid-September. Never mind the neverending laundry or needed supplies to keep the house running. Never mind the band trips that hit me for $40 a whack. Never mind the teenage drama bullshit to go along with the Hiles white trash drama bullshit. Never mind the car insurance, the renters insurance I have to pay to keep my dog, hell, never mind my dog is way, way past due for a bath and her shots. Never mind I won't have any money to buy my kids summer clothes, that their pants are getting too tight, or that I have no idea how in hell I'm going to buy them school clothes in August because my tax return sucked ass this year. Never mind it's already obvious I won't have money for Christmas again, and dear god that depresses me more than I can say. Never mind. I'm just fucking tired.

Why did I think I could do all this? Why? Was I insane?

 

[Gypsy]

thank heavens the weekend is over!

Mom was here. We fought. She was packing her stuff to leave at midnight Saturday night because I said "No, I'm not going to listen to the races all day on tv." and it started a bitchfest. I informed her if she was leaving, that was her business, but she had to tell her granddaughter goodbye before she left. She opted to wait until morning, then.

I figure if she's going to be here, we should VISIT, not spend all our time watching tv or staring at a computer, right? I mean, I could be studying for midterms, but if I'm going to have company, we should SPEND TIME TOGETHER. Gah. There's a lot more to what happened, but screw it. Suffice it to say that, the next time she wants to come visit, she'll be under strict orders to NOT bring her laptop, and there will be a "NO COMPUTERS ALLOWED" rule in effect. I ain't even playin.

A few things fixed on the car. My bank account is stone cold dry now, but I have brakes, new rotors, a new throttle position sensor, and the fuel filter has been replaced. Whew. I was seriously worried my fuel pump was going to get thrashed by that filter. The car doesn't die anymore, at least it didn't on the way home from the shop. It has more power now, too. And I don't hear those annoying sounds that indicate bad brakes. No squealers, no growling. When the old pads came off, it was discovered that I had a week, at most, left on them. I knew that, though.

There's a new serpentine belt on the car now, too. Amazingly, when I got out of it yesterday, I did not get shocked as I closed the door. Actually, that's not amazing, I'm being a smartass. When the belt is slipping, the alternator and battery get weird, and I get shocked. If when you get out of your car it shocks you just a little as you close the door, have your alternator, battery, battery cables and belts checked. One or more are malfunctioning.

The TPS was so hard to get off, that one part took longer than everything else combined - two and a half hours. Because of this, the wheel cylinders didn't get done. I have battery cables, but apparently something weird was done to the battery itself, and the new cables cannot be used on it. So, now when the FA money comes in, I'll be buying a new one. I'll also be replacing the tires and spending around $100 or so on a tune-up.

It's a good thing this car's purchase price was only $450, huh?

Still, even with all I'm putting into it, it's going to be a damned good car. The motor is even stronger than the one in my Dynasty was. The tranny shifts smooth as glass, and lemme tell you, I'm not pissed about the power. It's no worse on gas than my last two cars were, and it doesn't even have a tuneup yet. We'll be flushing the brake system and tranny, and of course it'll get a nice oil change, with good oil and some Lucas in it. And Dale can work on the A/C too, so the hose assembly that's leaking will be replaced. Oh, and I'm going to the junkyard for the hose assembly. I'll also get another wiper arm there, and probably a master switch for the windows. Perhaps I'll find some floor mats there, too, but I'm not particularly stressed over those right now.

I had a dream that the Ex destroyed the car. He can't really do what he did in the dream, but I woke up thinking "Yeah, I really really have to buy a locking gas cap." Yup, I'm weird.

My lower back is no longer out of whack, though the muscles are still sore. I've traded the pain I was having from my back for the pain of my gall bladder bitching at me, full volume. Sigh. I've not been drinking my OJ lately, and this is the price I pay. It's okay. I'll fix this, too.

Past time to jet for school. Have a good one.

 

[Gypsy]

So much has happened, I feel like a dam on the verge of cracking. I can't detail it all, at least not in one sitting. The character limit would never allow for it, even if I had the energy to put it all down. And besides, I probably just plain shouldn't. Not here, anyway.

I will say this, though. The Ex has, at long last, visited with his doctors enough times to get an actual diagnosis. Alcoholic we knew, that's a no-brainer. And some of us (like me) knew he had something screwed up in his head, something that needed some serious help. Well, now that *something* has a name: Bipolar Schizophrenia.

This is what I've been dealing with since 1989. This is what has made my life hell. This plus the fact that he's selfish, and has long operated under the mistaken belief that he's ten foot tall and bulletproof. He couldn't possibly have a problem, his only problem has been that he can't have everything he wants.

Anyway, that's besides the point. The point is that he's finally getting some real help, and I pray with all my might that he continues to do so. He's on so many meds I don't know how he keeps them all straight, but somehow he is. The meds get changed around every week or so, while they try to find the perfect combination for him that doesn't counteract his blood pressure pills or his diabetes medicine.

And now that the Ex is trying to get his shit together, my daughter is going nuts on me...and taking me with her. She's told me so many lies in the past six months that if she tells me the sun is shining, I look out the window for confirmation. I hate this more than everything else I've hated so far. It hurts in a way that her father can't hurt me, betrays me in a way that no one else can. A very large part of me wants to throw my hands in the air, say "Fuck it" and walk away. I know that I won't, but I don't like the knowledge that for two days I had to remind myself that she's a child, and that I love her.

There are so many details to so many incidents, and I just... I just can't deal with this outwardly right now. I'm too busy focusing on keeping my head together, reigning in my hurt and anger, and keeping on with the keeping on. It's hard to do right now, it really is. She stole a huge part of my reason for withstanding this hell all this time with her horribly vicious words, her slaps, kicks and punches. It is exceptionally hard to fight for something, for someone, when they themselves are fighting against you. I keep asking myself "What am I even doing this for? Why am I going through this?" It sure as hell isn't for me, so what am I doing here?

I am adult enough to recognize that, in time, the hurt will dim somewhat, and we'll get past this. But I also know that everything has changed. A piece of me died inside, struck down by absolute betrayal. I still feel a strong urge to slap her with every ounce of strength I possess, and I have to find a way to force that back.

My daughter has done what her father never did. She has broken my spirit.

 

[Gypsy]

I specifically asked a former in-law for help putting this desk together. I had to, there was no choice. The former owner of said desk put it together so backwards and upside down that tape measure, drill and an extra pair of hands were required. I have no idea how they ever made this thing work the way they did it. It's solid now, though, thank goodness. Thanks, Mom, though your ears must've been burning these past THREE DAMNED DAYS while I fought to try to get it put together. Yeesh.

My computer has been moved, hooked up, and is working fine. I have to find the tack thingies I bought over two years ago, so I can get the cable up off the hallway floor. For now, though, I have to finish clearing the old desk off so I can move the stereo out of my eldest child's room. Ya know, there just isn't enough room in this apartment, no matter how I wiggle things. I seriously look forward to the day Mom gives me her entertainment center and tv, so I can clear out some space. Out with the console tv, out with the wobbly tv stand holding the videos. Then I just have to find a good home for my antique desk.

I'm still unable to come to terms with what happened with my daughter. I don't know if this pain will ever ease, I really don't. I'm so angry, so shocked. I feel venemously bitter. I feel like I've wasted fifteen years of sacrifice and pain, one stab in my back and one in my heart my only thanks. How dare she turn on me this way?

I will finish school, and I'll make damned sure that my degree is useful pretty much anywhere I want to go. When I'm done, I will choose to stay, or to go. Whatever choice I make, it will be because it's what I want, and what's good for me. I'm climbing out of this white trash bullshit, come hell or high water. My kids can either climb with me, or they can embrace the bullshit, but I will not stay in it for them. Game over.

I hate that I've wasted my time, tears, energy, effort, life. I hate that I'm so disrespected in the face of all I try to do. I hate that my child was able to destroy me so easily.

Hope she isn't stupid enough to ask me for money for band trips, haircuts, or anything else not strictly necessary to remain alive. I'm finished doing without for her. She not only physically and verbally attacked me in the most henious way possible, but she also made a point of completely destroying my reputation in this town in one fell swoop.

She's been gone this week to my sister's. Not because she deserved to go have fun, but because I could not abide her presence. I thought we were so close. I thought I could trust her. I thought she loved me as much as I loved her.

What a fool I have been.

 

[Gypsy]

Two weeks ago today, the Ex called a few minutes before three asking for Alyssa. She wasn't home yet, so he and I spoke for about ten minutes or so, then when she got home, I gave the phone to her and went about my business.

He'd been telling me how he'd been diagnosed with Bipolar Schizophrenia, listing the many meds he's on, telling me about his counseling, etc. He also related an incident with his mother, where he gave her the news of his diagnosis, she'd told him "Well, I knew there was something wrong with you since you were a kid. I've thought you had split personality disorder since you were ten." His reply was a shocked "Thanks Mom. That's a hell of a thing to be telling me NOW." I'll keep my own personal opinion on that to myself for now.

Alyssa speaks to her father for a few minutes, hangs up, and says "I want to see my Dad." I nodded and told her that's fine, as soon as Harley gets home we'll line it out and I'll make the arrangements. "No," she stated, "I want to see him NOW."

I tried to explain that her brother has a right to go too, if he wishes, but if he doesn't, it'll have to wait for another night. I can't leave her alone there, and I can't leave him home alone. She was adamant that I was going to take her there NOW, and I wasn't going to stay. I tried to explain many times why I felt that was unsafe, but she wouldn't listen. Instead, she became angry, began to yell, and to say awful things.

I finally raised my voice and told her she was being unreasonable, to calm down and listen to what I was saying. She continued to yell louder, becoming more hysterical and yes, demanding. I stood up and took about four steps back from her, and told her that I make the decisions, and I was not going to put her in the car this instant and drive her to her father, much less leave her alone there with him. He's far from stable, and living with a woman I've never heard anything except really bad stories about. We're talking the woman lost her kids due to dealing drugs, ok? No. Not leaving my kids there, not happening.

She stood, got in my face, pointed her finger at my nose, and began screaming. I gritted my teeth and told her to "Sit down, shut up, and listen to what I'm saying." She kept yelling stuff like how I'm just a bitter old bitch, and if I had my way, they'd never see their father again...how this is all a game to me where whoever has the kids wins...that I don't really care about them like their daddy does. I'm trying to stay calm, but I'm getting very pissed. The EIGHTH time I told her to SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP, she replied with this:

"I will NOT sit down and I will NOT shut up, I'm going to my fucking father's house, and there's nothing you can fucking do about it!!"

If that didn't shock me enough...she shoved me in an attempt to get me out of her way. And that's when I slapped her face.

I then took her by her shoulders and forcibly put her in the chair, which obviously infuriated her. She began fighting me like a wildcat, slapping, punching, kicking with all her might, as I tried to hold her in the chair to keep her from leaving. The whole time she was putting bruises on my chest and legs, and scratches on my neck, she was screaming "Fuck you, you fucking bitch! I can't believe you fucking hit me! I'm going to my fucking father's, and I'm never going to fucking see you again! I fucking hate you, get the fuck off me! You fucking bitch!"

And that's when I slapped her across both cheeks about five times.

I'm not proud of it, in fact I'm horrified. The truth is, I simply snapped. It was too much. After everything I've been through for her, everything I've sacrificed for her for fifteen long years...it was too much.

I stood back and screamed at her that she will sit there and shut the hell up, she will listen to what I'm telling her, and she'll do what the fuck *I* say and not the other way around because, contrary to her opinion, she does not make the goddamned rules and decisions in this house, I DO.

We had a very intense "talk" for about half an hour, wherein she informed me I don't know her, I know nothing about her, that she's sick of trying to be perfect, she wants to be herself. The self she wants to be runs around with boys old enough to drive, all afternoon and night, and doesn't have to check in; the self she wants to be has a belly ring; the self she wants to be can go where she wants when she wants with who she wants, and have sex when she wants to.

Oh, really?

I sent her to her friend's house because the tension was so thick no one could breathe, while I cooked supper. I thought maybe an hour or so apart might lower the stress enough we could communicate better. I called her home for supper, and as we stood up from the table, the goddamned cops knocked on my door. I had the cops called on me for child abuse.

Apparently she told her friend that I beat her up for wanting to see her father. She also apparently told a lot of other people the same thing the next morning, starting with her bus driver. That's why I got called to school by social services.

I had a flat and couldn't get there, couldn't even get a cab for at least three hours. Eventually the social worker came to get me, taking 40 minutes longer than she'd stated on the phone. Turns out that her tardiness was because she was speaking to the officer that SS had called to the school. They were laying out the case for him, to have him come arrest me. Apparently, however, the officer asked the father's name, and when told, replied with: Hold on, wait a minute. I know this guy, I know this case. To be honest, it's amazing this mother has held everything together as long as she has. There's nothing to pursue, here. This is an isolated incident. I will not arrest her, she's not a child abuser.

I was shocked when the SS worker told me this, because I'd never even met this particular cop. But, he knew all about the Ex, and I guess he knew about me.

I sent my daughter to my sister's on spring break because I could not abide her presence. Just...couldn't. The rumor at the school bus garage is that I was arrested and had my kids taken away, because Alyssa said "Mom, I want to see my dad" and I said "Oh, really?" and doubled up my fists and beat her all over this house.

I was physically sick with it. Part of me still is.

Her punishment for the lies and deception, for screaming in my face, for cussing me like a dog, for other infractions and general attitude and behavior these past few months? I like to make the punishment fit the crime, so her punishment is one of education. I've assigned her a five page, A+ quality essay, and she's grounded until it's done. The topic is her father's mental illness, the range of symptoms, how it affects the family of the patient, possible treatment, information about the likelihood of him stopping treatment when he starts feeling better, causing everything starting all over again. I also expect her to write an additional two pages of her own observations, what she's seen and heard, how it has affected her and her brother, and yes, me. There is no maximum page limit, and there is no time limit. She can take as long as she likes, but she's completely grounded until it is finished and graded. Oh, and I won't be grading it myself, either. My college writing instructor will do that, as a favor to me. After all, he taught jr. high and high school for years before teaching college.

I asked her father to back me up on this, and he has. He had her sit down and read all his literature on this condition, showed her his pills, and told her himself that he is not stabilized -he still has episodes - and no one can say how long it might take him to stabilize, if ever.

She's been working on it since Monday afternoon. She has a much different attitude, now. Maybe because she's learning something, but it's also likely in part because I told her the Jerry Springer white trash bullshit is OVER. I'm done. She'll either abide by my rules and show me respect at all times, or she can pack her shit and get the hell out. Have fun at the foster home, where they sure as hell won't care about you the way I do. And when you realize you've made a mistake, when you're in trouble and need my help? Don't look for me, because I won't be here. I'll have already left town, and I won't look back. I won't sacrifice another second of my life to be treated that way by the very person I'm doing the sacrificing for.

Yes. Definitely a much, much different attitude. And now I must go, for she's just informed me that supper is ready.

 

[Gypsy]

Help!

I guess this is what I get for freely stating with relief that I have a good running car, and for driving it as though I'm confident that it's strong, safe and stable.

Thursday on the way to college, it overheated. I noticed the temp light on as I was turning onto the school blvd. and found a parking space as fast as I could. I had just enough time to dash to class, so simply shut it off. I figured that when I came out of my last class, I would add a little bit to the overflow tank and go home. After all, the overflow tank has a crack on the top, I assumed it was a little low - and that will make a car overheat. I've dealt with this on nearly every car I've ever owned.

After school, when I popped the hood and went to add a lil liquid, I stepped into a huge oily khaki colored puddle of sludge. Uhmmm...this is not a good sign. The overflow tank looks extremely nasty, what the hell? Open the radiator cap to find more of the khaki colored sludge. What in the fuck happened here?? Pull the tranny dipstick, and bloody fucking hell, there's more of the stuff. Oh. Shit.

Seems the radiator crapped out, there's apparently a hole in a line, allowing the transmission fluid and antifreeze/water to mix. The radiator cannot cool with oil in it. The transmission will be completely ruined with water in it.

My cousin Rick, who formerly owned the car, has one just like it junked here in town. He says I can go pull any old part I want to off it, but won't tell me how much he wants for the parts. "We'll work something out later." Oh, shit, I don't like those kinds of deals. He's liable to ask for something I don't have, later. But, I need the radiator, so I'll take it. Now all I need is for someone to go with me to pull the damned parts. I say parts, plural, because I also intend to take the overflow tank, sideview mirror, master control switch, wiper arm, and air conditioner hose assembly. Maybe the carpet thingy out of the trunk. Or anything else that might be useful on my car.

Anyway, Dale says he'll help, but can't until Sunday. leSigh. I'm in panic until I know whether I've shot a perfectly good transmission due to a faulty fucking radiator. Damnit to hell, I didn't see this one coming at all.

I told Randy what was happening. Of course I did, I was stressed and freaked and worried n stuff. So he assumes I want him to fix it, and calls a friend of his to have the work done. Friend says sure, but doesn't really mean it - for fuck's sake Randy, he just had back surgery a week ago! And he's assuming to pay the bill to his friend, too. Did I ask him to fix this? Did I ask him for anything? NO.

He's pissed because I'm still stressed because absolutely nothing has been accomplished yet, which of course translates to me being unappreciative. I really don't want his friend working on my car in the first place, I have no idea if he's a perfectionist or a rigger. I don't like things rigged on my car. Rigged things tend to un-rig themselves while I'm driving. Eleven years with the Ex taught me that, and I typically do everything in my power to avoid that scenario. Now it's being forced on me, and I'm supposed to appreciate it. I suppose this means that I really am an unappreciative bitch. Well, I'm sorry. But it's not like his friend is going to cough up a transmission that works as well as this one, should he fail to get every drop of water out of the system and it gets trashed. Anyone who knows me at all knows that I'm as particular about my car as I am because the car I own and drive isn't just a representation of my independence, my ability to take care of my family - it IS my ability.

The pell grant is gone, there is no more money for buying transmissions. Of COURSE I'm worried and scared and stressed and nervous. And damnit, I trust Dale to work on my car for a reason. He's a damned good mechanic, and if he isn't 100% sure how to do something on my car, he tells me upfront...and then gets the advice he needs from the more experienced mechanics he works with. Several of the guys he works with have lent a hand on my vehicles before, teaching Dale and helping me out. My shade tree mechanic has backup from certified guys with more than 25 years experience. If it were your car, what would YOU want to do?

And then I get a spiel from Randy about why I should not change the filter when I flush the transmission. Since I'm clueless, I call the local transmission experts, who give me their expert advice. They say: Don't flush the tranny that way, you're only saving $50, and seriously risking a $4000 transmission. Take it to X shop, because they have the machine necessary to actually suck every single drop of fluid out of the entire system, completely and backflush the filter. It's worth the money. They don't have that particular machine, but they themselves take their vehicles to X shop for that particular job.

If I can get someone to change the radiator and tow me to X shop, I intend to spend the $125 or so to follow that expert's advice. This makes Randy angry, because he doesn't want to pay for it. Did I ask him to pay for a motherfucking thing?! No, I did not. Forget it, don't fucking help me at all, I want to say to him. I didn't ask for your help to begin with. I didn't ask for your money, your friend's help, nothing. And by the way, if your friend was going to help me, he could have done something Thursday. Or Friday. If I'm going to have to wait all fucking weekend, I can let Dale do the job inside a real garage with all the necessary tools - not have it done by an unknown, outside on the ground, possibly rigging shit as he goes.

Negatives come in threes, and it's looking like the 3rd is going to be an ugly falling out between myself and Randy. So be it, I suppose. I don't take well to someone else controlling my decisions in any manner. He does not rule my car, my roost, my pocketbook, or anything else about me. If this means I'm unappreciative of his help, well, then I guess I am. I'll just have to wear the title. "You need to let me help you," he said, quite angrily. However, I don't like the route he's choosing, and I feel I have the right to veto it, because it is MY CAR. It is my life and the lives of my children who will be seriously affected if this job is not done correctly the first time. I think I've already invested too much money in this car to risk it being trashed.

Randy and his friend say "no big deal, it's just a radiator, and flushing the tranny is no big deal, either." The expert said "don't risk it."

Anyone out there have any feedback for me? On the car... what needs to be done, what I should do? On my attitude.... am I being rigid, or smart and careful?

Please, I need opinions. Attitude opinions, mechanical opinions, anything anyone has to offer.

 

[Gypsy]

I got exceptionally lucky again.

And believe me, I know it. The car is fixed, and happily enough, running even better than before. Wowsers. I'd like to say I'm ready to put this thing on a racetrack, but I'm afraid Murphy will hear me. I'm grateful beyond measure that it worked out this way. The transmission seems to be fine, in fact, better than ever.

For the record, I am now a strong advocate of Lucas additives. Put it in the oil, the tranny, the power steering. It really does recondition things and lengthen the life of your car. Assuming, of course, that you do regular preventative maintainance and don't let it go downhill due to neglect.

Alyssa handed me her essay last Thursday night, but due to the car problems, I was unable to take it to school for grading on Friday. I gave her a temporary E for Effort, due to the 24+ hours I knew for a fact she'd put into it. Since it was no one's fault the essay could not be graded before the weekend, and there was a spring dance on Friday night, I lifted her restriction. However, I did turn the essay in to my instructor today, and when he gives it back, she will return to her restricted state while she fixes anything he has marked. Once it has reached A+ status, she'll be ungrounded again. I'm fairly certain he'll find a lot of GUMP problems (grammar, usage, mechanics, punctuation), but other than that, it's fairly good. She did work very hard on it. But most importantly, her attitude has changed dramatically...at least for now. She's fourteen, there will be more drama in the future, it had just better not ever be of that caliber again.

I can't remember if I stated this before, so I'll state it now, just in case: If anyone is about to give me hell for having my college instructor grade her essay, please note that he was a jr. high english teacher for many years. He is much, much more qualified to grade an 8th grade essay than I am, and is sure to be much more fair than I would be. Thank you.

I turned in my cause/effect essay today. It should have been turned in yesterday, but I stayed home sick. While I was home sick, I completely threw out the essay I had ready to turn in, and started over. That would make it the 8th or 9th attempt, I guess. It's easy to pick a topic for this type of essay, but everything I chose seemed to work out badly after I started writing. *shrug* My final choice was titled "How Stress Can Shape Your Life and Hurt Your Body." Sure hope I get a good grade on it, although I know he might take off points for it obviously being written the day it was due. I sort of mentioned the car breaking down and my reaction to it.

I had to force myself to go to school today, my tummy seriously hurts. I'm glad I went and stuck it out, but sheesh. Had it been high school, my ass woulda been SO outta there. Well, assuming I had a car to drive myself home, anyway.

By the way, what the hell is going around, anyway? Is it another flu bug? Whatever it is, it's been kicking my ass since Sunday, and I'm ready for it to pack up and go.

Things are gearing up for early registration for summer and fall semesters. I'm clueless as to what's going on and what I need to do, except I need to get a copy of my degree audit. I guess tomorrow I'll go get that and then try to see my advisor. I wanted very much to accomplish at least one class this summer, but damnit to hell, the funds are not there. Financially it would be better for us if I worked the summer anyway. Not only would an infusion of cash be beneficial for a couple of months, but I need a bigger tax return next year. SO. I guess I'll start poking around for a summer job.

I wonder if delivering for Pizza Place #1 is an option?

I wish taking a real vacation were possible. I would love to be able to pack up and go somewhere, anywhere for a week or two. If I had the money to afford it, I would visit friends and relatives all over the United States. I'd go to New York and hug people I as yet only really know as nicknames and avatars. I'd see my first improv show. Sigh. Someday.

Hmmm. I think during summer break my first priority is going to be to go through this house like a machine, feng shui'ing everything in sight. It needs it. My dresser alone needs some serious help. It has a junk drawer for crying out loud, and stuff all over it. Granted, the stuff on top is sorta kinda in a semblance of an arrangment, but it's not a pretty one. Thing is, it's the dresser that needs to go, most of all. I realized last night, out of the blue, that this is the same freaking dresser that the Ex and I bought to use in our first place together, back in 1988. And believe me, it's suffered many scars since then, it's ugly as sin, but that isn't even the point. The point is... it needs to go. It's long past time for it to be complete history, and I'm utterly shocked that I'd forgotten where I even got it. Weirdness.

I'm going to move my peace flag from behind my bed, I think. I want it on the ceiling, with my pretty windchime hanging from the center. Yeah, I know, it sounds very teenagerish. I never was allowed to do stuff like that when I was a teen, though. I remember when I wanted beaded curtains instead of a door. I don't know for sure, but I think now that I'm older, that might just annoy the hell out of me.

Okay, I have some studying I want to do for history and spanish, and I'm supposed to read about five essays before writing class tomorrow. I suppose I'd better get cracking.

 

[Gypsy]

journalism or english?

The car is still running well...ssshhhh...

We're still waiting on the graded essays. That particular class was cancelled Friday, then again today. Apparently Mr. S is terribly, awfully sick. I hope he's getting better.

No classes for me, tomorrow. No classes for anyone on campus, as it's early registration day. I spoke with my advisor today, and I'm completely ready to get in line tomorrow morning and have the whole thing done with. I haven't officially changed my major yet, but my courses next semester are good for both journalism AND english, so there ya go. Think I'll go over all the courses in the book tonight, and see just how many are identical. I'm thinking there aren't a lot of differences. I wish I had supportive help living here with me, someone to take over most of the Mommy duties (cooking, cleaning, shopping, laundry, errands), and help supplement the income too. I could take more than 12 hours a semester, and carry a double major. Yeah yeah, keep dreaming, right? heh. Ah well.

I have a doc's appointment tomorrow. My plan is to explain to her in detail my problem with this constant pain caused by one faulty gallbladder, and enlist her aid in actually planning a removal surgery this summer. I have six months at most before this damned thing takes me down, and I find myself in the hospital being wheeled to emergency surgery, I can feel it. I'm sick of waiting for that, I'm sick of the pain that keeps me from doing the things I need to do and want to do. I'm also quite terrified of this scenario occurring in the middle of a semester. Me in the hospital, flunking out of every class...losing pell grants and scholarships...screwing up my student loan status...having to appeal financial aid suspension again. It could potentially set me back a year, and I can't just sit here and allow that circumstance to happen. I wanted to take summer courses, but I think the smartest thing for the long term is to take aggressive action against future fuckedup status before it has a chance to bite me. I want to plan this, schedule the surgery for just after finals are over and all is done with this semester. That way, I have the entire summer to recuperate, giving my body plenty of time to heal itself. And then come fall, I hit the ground running again...only faster than before.

Come hell or high water, I will be on the dean's list every semester from now until I have my master's. Plant a positive seed to reap a positive harvest.

On next fall's agenda we have: Advanced College Writing, Spanish 102, National and State Government (I both look forward to learning more about this, and dread it like hell at the same time), and Algebra. My schedule clock-wise will be nearly identical. I still have three classes on T/Th, beginning at 9:30 in the morning and ending at 1:45 pm. I still have one class on MWF, but this time I won't have to be there until 10 in the ayemm. I have reason to believe that next semester I won't have nearly so many problems to deal with, and so will be able to safely schedule more work-study hours. This is a good thing, I just hope I'm lucky enough to grab another work-study like the one I have now. In fact, I plan to ask my boss if I can reapply for the position before the end of the semester. No idea if that's allowed or not, but if it is, I plan to snag hours that are best for me. Woohoo.

Dunsany is shuddering at the thought of my becoming a college instructor. Hmmm. Well, if I don't end up teaching college, I still think a masters in english is going to give me more options within a 250 mile radius than a journalism degree. I can assume that *someday* I will move further away, but I've gotten to the point that I no longer sit and count on that someday. I have to assume, for safety's sake, that whatever degree I get is going to have to serve me right here. I'm sure if I struck the question "What type of jobs would I qualify for with a degree in English?" I'd get at least a few answers that would be workable here. Remember, unless my kids choose to leave with me or decide to move out, I am here until they're through college. I will not abandon them unless they no longer want me, or no longer need me. That means I'll be working here awhile after I graduate.

Blah blah blah. Who am I even talking to? I don't even feel like I'm talking to myself anymore. To whom am I addressing this correspondence? I don't write for shit anymore.

Someone once told me that they were afraid that if they found peace from their heartbreak, they would lose their passion and creativity...or something like that. I understood what they meant, but now I think I understand it a bit better. I think it's happened to me. The sarcasm and tongue-in-cheek humor have left my writing. The depth and passion is missing from my stories (stories? who am I kidding, there are no stories, only updates), from my words. I don't know if it's because I'm wrung out, or if it's because of the anonymity thing. I have to guard myself now, and when I first came here, I didn't do that. I let it all hang out, the good, the bad, the sad and the ugly. In so very many ways, that is no longer an option for me.

I am changing more than just what I allow myself to write here. I am trying to live up to my own expectations of who I expect myself to be, and it seems it isn't always going to be an easy task. For example: learning not to ramble my thoughts. I think I've always rambled because I had so much to say, always had this huge need to try to make myself understood...to tell my story. For the past five years, I've rambled endlessly, trying to make someone, anyone understand why I've done the things I've done, what makes me tick. I've been in constant defense mode, and though I've grown quite tired of it, I also find it strange, very strange, to have so much less to say.

Even if I wrote down everything I have to say that I no longer feel free to share openly, I still have less to say than I once did. The pain and sadness of my past that I once wrote about here, strangely enough, have been melting. I vaguely remember the incidents if I push myself to think of them, but the details become more and more fuzzy as time goes on. The pain has dulled. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror, and it's like looking at a stranger being pulled from the wreckage and rubble of a disaster. Who is this person? Is she a good person? Someone important? If she died today, would anyone mourn? Has she accomplished anything worthwhile in her life?

I hope that when I die, I get to hang around and listen to people at my funeral, so I can find out.

 

[Gypsy]

Every time I *almost* get used to the changes around here, things up and change. I'm still not used to the changes to the way the private messages work. Can I do what I want/need? Sure. But it's a lot less convenient now than it used to be. Yes, I WILL bitch if you hang me with that brand new rope.

Got Alyssa's essay back today. All kinds of scribbles on it, but stuff that's easily fixed. Mr. S. informed me that the content was good, GUMP was the problem. I knew that. He also said she's a writer, like her mom. Alyssa said "I know. But I hate writing."

I registered for fall today, with some minor changes to my schedule. The biggest change is that now I'm fast-tracking beginning and intermediate algebra. That gives me 15 credit hours for the semester instead of 12, and gets me closer to the college algebra I need for my degree. I spoke to the instructor today, and based on what he's seen me do so far this semester, he's confident I can handle fast track. Yay. It's not going to get me ahead, because I have to skip summer semester, but it'll help a tad.

Speaking of skipping summer semester, I went to the doc's office today. She's confident that we can schedule this gallbladder removal for shortly after the spring semester ends. When she asked me why I wanted to schedule it this way, I told her I absolutely know without doubt that if I don't, it's going to go toxic during the fall semester...and the consequences of allowing that to happen are more than I can bear. Failing my courses. Losing my pell grant and scholarships. The effect on my student loan. Financial aid suspension, appeal process. Possibly up to a year of interruption in school, and it surely wouldn't look good on my record. I've waited too long, worked too hard, to let this happen...please, help me. She stared at me a few seconds, then slowly her head bobbed. Her reply of "Absolutely. It makes perfect sense. I see no reason why we can't schedule this" caused me to hug her.

A week from tomorrow I'll have two ultrasounds done. No upper G.I., thank goodness. So, tests being run, getting on the surgeon's schedule after that, click click click. I've already spoken to the kids' dad to let him know what I'm up to, in case I need him to keep the kids overnight. I believe that if he stays his current course, he might be able to handle one overnight, a month from now. If I see that he can't, then my aunt and cousin will come to my rescue, I'm sure. Or my sister. Or someone. It'll work out. If none of them can stay with me at the hospital and bring me home, I'll call Rick. I'll pay for a cab ride, but I'll insist that he come get me himself. I'm not worried about that part, it will work itself out.

I spoke to the vice president of student affairs today, in the lunchspot at school. He asked how I was doing, and I told him I was great, except for the gallbladder thing. I told him I was planning to change my major, why, what I was changing it to, and what I wanted to do with it - teach right there at the college. (The gallbladder thing came up because he was highly recommending I try something that was full of things that are on the no-no list. Melted cheese, pepperoni, sausage... Anyway, I had already told him I couldn't have those foods and he asked why.) Since everything had already been brought up, when he asked if I were enrolling for summer courses, I explained my gameplan. He indicated that perhaps I should go ahead and register for summer, and if I got to do the surgery and couldn't do school, let him know. He would personally see to it that the $25 fee for dropping would be waived.

I thought that was SO cool.

He asked me how I was doing in my classes, and I told him the truth - I love them. Even with the personal problems that have cropped up since January, I'm still happier than I've ever been in my life. He smiled and said "Well, you must be doing very well, then." I smiled back and told him "Straight A's so far, and I intend to keep it that way."

I'd given up on eating there, the only option available that wasn't on my no-no list was cereal, and so was turning to leave. He called out to me "Good luck with fixing the gallbladder problem. And if you need any help, call me. You have my number."

It sounds very nothing and dorky and probably even a little bit inappropriate, but it was a casual conversation that just went where it went. I felt good about it because it was sincere, and because I wanted him to know that I am not wasting what's been given to me, that I'm worth the chance he took when he cleared my debt and put in a word for me.

I'd better get some sleep. I never did have time to study today, and I have a history test on thursday - must study my head off tomorrow.

P.S. Got an A on my cause/effect essay.