1) I was part of a family of sexual deviants and serial killers. Our parents (not David and/or Nancy) were married despite the fact they were first cousins. That is as far as their impropriaty went. But they had eight children, one more messed up than the next. There was a pediphile brother who was unrestrained by society or law. Two black widow sisters who sometimes seduced men as a team. Some of the siblings were simply wontenly promiscuous, searching for pleasure from any recepticle whether man, woman or other. I couldn't prevent myself from killing. It wasn't intentional and was always accepted as accidental. I was afraid to get close to anyone, knowing they would die either at my hand or by being in proximity to me. I even had foreknowlege and tried to warn people away from me, but they were unexplainably drawn to me, and thereby their own end. One of my siblings ( I don't remember if it was a brother or sister) adopted the eleven multicultural children of one of my victims. Society was so awed by the generosity of an individual taking on such responsibility. I knew the kids would be sexualized and molested, so I killed the person before he/she could harm them. I didn't seem to matter, as all eleven of the kids soon became killers as well. They didn't even witness my deed, and yet they all (different ages, different nationalities) took on a mission of cold calculated murder. I wanted it to end pain and guilt of what we were doing, for someone to change the channel or wake me up. I finally walked out into a barren unpopulated area where noone could contact me, in hopes of being spared the knowledge of what everyone was doing.

2) I tried to save a hummingbird I hit with my windshield. It was so tiny and I could see one of the wings was mangled. As I slowed the car after hitting it, the poor thing was sucked in to my car. Our cat JJ was there and he wanted to eat it. He was beside him self with desire.  I caught the bird in a jar, screwed the top on to protect it, and put some air holes in it. I knew the tiny bird would have to eat within 15 minutes, so I quickly bought some all natural lemonade and tried to feed it with a hypodermic. The bird turned it's beak away when I tried to force in the lemonade, all the while JJ was pacing and begging for the opportunity to eat the bird. I knew it was dying, but when I tried to picture the cat eating the bird while alive,  I was so sad and desperate to save it. In the end, the bird died in the jar, the cat lost interest when it went limp, and I put the jar in my purse. I was humiliated by my failure and afraid someone would discover my secret and all my loved ones would shun me as heartless.

3)I drove my mother (again not Nancy) to South Bend, where we tried a brand new restaurant, titled the Ass Hole (the sign was wrong, but that's what it said. I think it's because Vik saw a Passport Photo sign at Walgreens, but didn't see the first p, and was confused.) It was a super swanky place, but it was cafeteria style. We had another woman with us, and we requested that the price wouldn't be over fifty dollars for the three of us, at which time the other woman slapped a $50 bill on the stainless steel counter. "No problem, that will cover everything from cocktails to dessert" the attendant assured us. We then proceede to various serving stations, where our plates would be waiting for us, and highly efficient beautiful servers placed our selections on our plates and sent them to our table ahead of us. It was  like browsing for delicacies.   At the end of the meal, wearing a lovely peach gown, my "mother" stood to announce that we should go on home without her, as she was staying over in the adjoining Hotel, and would return home the next evening.

The other woman seemed unphased, and left in her own vehicle. I went to my car and saw "mom" take the hand of a handsome older gentleman, and they entered the hotel lobby. I wasn't offended, having innate knowlege of the fact that she was eloping. At home, I was questioned by family who couldn't understand why she would do that. I wasn't concerned, just happy for her happiness. The man she was marrying was wealthy and kind. I tried to explain to everyone that she didn't want to bother anyone with witnessing the ceremony, or being inconvenienced by her timeing.

On their drive home the next day the new husband died. She was left stranded and I had to go pick her up. She was melancholy, but not hysterically sad as a new bride would be expected. She touched my arm and said she was happy for the brief time they had together and now she didn't have to worry about anything; she had enough money to last her lifetime and mine.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I haven't had such vivid dreams for a while. I needed to put them down somewhere that I wouldn' t lose them, until I decide if their is any meaning to be gleaned from them.

As I was entering this, I considered how strange that 2/3 referenced my mother (although not my mother Nancy) and then my mom called! I answered joyfully "Hello!" when I saw her number on caller id, masking the sheepish guilt I had for casting her in these incongruous roles in my dreams. Of course she didn't know what I had dreamt (tho it's not outside the realm of possibility in our relationship that she would have known I was dreaming of her.)
There she goes, she called again.

Picked up a Portals of Prayer, from January 09, and out fell several index cards. Written in my hand. Not sloppily like I was going under, but neatly and intellegently.

Here are the four bullet points I made note of:

1. "Strange Fire" - that's all it said. Strange fire is present when a priest tried to make an offering outside the presence of the True God. But the note doesn't specify that. Just the two words - strange fire.

2." Goldschlager and the three bears" - there is an additional note card devoted to this drunken bear/goldilocks scenario. It ends with the arrival of the EMT's and some bear on suicide watch.

3. "Question - What constitutes torture, what is oppression, what is mere inconvenience?

4. "More questions" - Did the Magi consider regifting? Did they wear the wrong shoes, not pack enough figs, put on a phony face of worship when they realized the King was a mere toddler? Did Balthazar blame Melchior for arriving so late? Did Melchior insist on stopping by the Waffle House in case the food was lousy when they got to the Messiah's house?

I can imagine that I wrote down 1, 3 and 4 during church or Sunday School. But where in the world did the alcoholic bears come into my thoughts? Evidently right between strange fire and the definition of torture. Go figure. Looks like I have my writing assignments for the next few weeks.

This is the sort of stuff that tosses and turns in my mind when I'm tossing and turning at night, not sleeping. Composed at 2 a.m., and it still makes sense by the light of day.

Thoughts on the generations~

My grandmother is a first born daughter, my mother is a first born daughter, I am a first born daughter, and I have a first born daughter. We are all strong women, but not feminists.

My great grandmother lived in a loveless marriage and was thankful for death’s release. My grandmother was divorced then widowed. My mother was divorced. I married a divorced man. My daughter married a child of divorce. I pray that divorce has been bred out of my family line.

My great grandmother had 5 daughters, four still living. My grandmother had 4 daughters and 2 sons, all still living. My mother had 1 daughter and 1 son, only I remain. I look forward to my daughter’s children, I pray that I may see them become adults.

My great grandmother wrote off her happiness. My grandmother wrote non-fiction and poetry that rhymed. My mother writes fiction and poetry that rhymes. I write short stories and my poetry seldom rhymes. My daughter writes excellent college papers. She rolls her eyes at most poetry.

My grandmother was raised by a Bible belt legalistic father that built fairy tale towers, cities, and finally homes that fell apart. My mother never knew her father, barely knew her step father and was raised by her Bible belt legalistic grandfather who was seldom home. My father was an atheist alcoholic that had trouble holding a job. My husband is religious and a work-a-holic. My daughter’s husband works hard to believe, gives his employer a fair day’s work for a fair wage and leaves the job behind at the end of the day.

Finally, the Social Security Disability hearing has happened. I spent an hour talking to a judge on a humongous television as we conducted a video interview. My rep was sitting next to me, both of us on camera being broadcast to the Orland Park Judges chambers. On the phone was a vocational expert witness that none of us could hear very well, but that was okay cuz mostly he just listened.

Okay - that's the set up. So, an hour came and went and at the end I couldn't tell if it was going well. The judge offered to amend my disability start date to the day when I had my extremely detailed second opinion. That's a difference of three years from when I stopped work due to my illness. My rep assured me that it was okay, because they don't make recompense for the entire 5 years I have been off work. So after a short consult, I agreed to make such an adjustment.
After she heard that, the judge approved my application. I am officially unemployable for full time work. I should be recieving a letter from the SS office stating this decision within 30 days. No one mentioned how long it would take to recieve my first payment, or any idea on how to estimate the amount I could expect to recieve. I just have to wit and see.

But right now, the most important part to me is the fact that I have been officially declared unemployable. I look forward to bandying about the phrase "But I'm disabled" when my family wants me to do something I don't want to do for them, whether it is overly taxing or not. Having the label does NOT make me feel any worse, or any better, about my prognosis, medically. I just sorta feel validated, like I haven't been lying for the past 5 or 6 years.

After we fled the Gary area and arrived in Portage, Erika and I treated each other to a Denny's lunch - I wanted to celebrate with fried food, and so I did. Yummy.

I have filed soooooo many forms for my disability claim, and now comes another packet. I have had several representatives out of New York to whom I have spoken, and now finally a contact in Chicago. I need to have some signatures Notarized, watch a mock hearing on dvd, set up a schedule of meetings with a psychologist and get an MRI this week. Whoops, this week is over tomorrow. Maybe I'll slip me some slack and make it the middle of next week. Finding the right therapist will be the tricky part. Then some phone interviews with my Chicago lawyer and my case hearing in June, in Gary %*P. Then I suppose it will be wait wait wait until I find out the verdict. And it better frickin be yes - you can have your money!

I'm morbid, and a little kinky I suppose. My guilty pleasure is watching Six Feet Under. Not the gay David and his lover Keith, and the random men they blow and sleep with.  But the other relationships, and the interesting way the clients die, and the way the families deal. And Claire, with her art school and photos of blood bubbling up out of the kitchen sink and basement drain. I would take those pictures if I saw that happening.

I wish I had pursued some of my artist interests when I was younger, if I hadn't been so hormone driven. If I had a better sense of my own personhood, my own individual worth, so I could have been making art instead of making out. Making regretable decisions. Making enemies out of lovers.

I did write some, but my poetry was so religious. Not Spiritual, but religious, like praise praise halleluja God is great. I didn't discover my my eye for photography then either. I thought it was my brother's thing. Don't get me wrong, he was great. I was proud of him. It wasn't til years after he died that I picked up his camera and gave it a try. That was something we could have shared, though, while he was alive. If I haven't been so horny, and spent so much time hiding it from the adults. I lived such a double life then. Actually most of my life.

I try to be more honest now. I think that is mostly due to the lessons I've learned through my poetry - Thanks Jill! I've learned to make it more personal. And through writing I've learned to be more honest with myself as well. Sometimes I think I even fooled myself with my facade.

Well, that certainly is enough soul searching and self revelation for one sitting. Back to the next episode, with the aunt Jemima cookie jar.

Jeez, I'm so sporadic. I'm hardly here at all. I haven't written much lately, lots of watching Tyler, lots of high pain days. A long week of the flu. That took forever to rebound from.

Today I'm making soup for church. Not labor intensive, but I have to keep an eye on it, and it's making a huge mess in the kitchen. I had to throw away the carrot ends and celery scraps, instead of feeding them to the rabbit.

Christopher died yesterday. Pnuemonia I think. He was so sick. He looked terrible. All his fur was matted, his eyes were running, his nose bubbling. He was too weak to eat for the past few days. I felt so badly for him, I couldn't justify a vet visit for such an old rabbit - His meds would have cost hundreds of dollars and he probably would have died anyways at his age. Viktor buried him under a tulip tree. Dealing with his sick and dying body was not a chore I was ready to handle. He was such a good bunny, always pushing the cats around and holding his own.

When he was young he used to knock over empty toilet paper rolls. He was so funny. You could stand it up and every time he would lunge at it and knock it down, like it was a threat. He could run so fast, jump up in the air and do a 180 turn, landing in the opposite direction. When he was young he would jump up onto the sofas and back down again with ease. Once he jumped without looking and landed right in a plate of beef stew on Vik's lap! He was so surprised, and so was Viktor. We used to be able to lay Christopher on his back, all four legs up, and talk calmly to him, and he would lay there for almost a minute without rolling over. Like he was hypnotized. He must have felt safe with us. He wouldn't accept treats out in the open, but in the safety of his cage he loved to get Waffle Crisp cereal for a special surprise. And when we fed him Timothy Hay he was very particular, sorting out the soft pieces from the tough ones.

Chris was part of our family for almost a decade. Goodbye little bunny. I miss you already.

Life is so consuming sometimes! Ekphrasis was a bust. Haven't written or submitted for ages, it seems. Until the new year rolled around. That always nudges my butt off the bench. Also, a long needle helps, theraputic of course, my dear.

I've been cruising through a poetry challenge site and found lots of nice words to play with. Also, want to try a dodoitsu - like a haiku only with the pattern 7 - 7 - 7 - 5, and humorous, about work or love. Something a little different.

Tyler is so big now - he has 3 teeth on the bottom and is starting some on the top "It's not nice to bite your friends"

I was so psyched about my submission to the Mississippi Review, the Ekphrasis I wrote about Self Portrait as Booty. I really put alot of heart into and I thought I really pulled it off. But no, I got the rejection e-mail this week. Just another loser piece. I still love it though. I love that it's jarring and messy. And it doesn't dissuade me from trying another ekphrasis. I like the challenge.

I had two really cool dreams last night. Since I'm lousy at keeping my dream journal that the kids gave me (with sparkly pens to boot) I'm just going to keep them in here.

 First I was swinging on a tree swing, at dusk. The dew was falling and I was swinging so high and free. It was orgasmic.  As I was swinging one of the ropes broke, but instead of falling or being frightened, I started to swing out in an arch sideways. I brushed the tops of the tall grasses and the dew clung to me. I opened my mouth and it tasted so sweet and satisfying. I kept swinging back and forth as before, only sideways instead of like a pendulum. I saw angels or fairies enter the field, dancing, as it got darker, and they told me it was probably time for me to stop and go inside before someone came looking for me. I was happy enough to do so, drenched in the dew and heady with laughter.
 
The second dream was similar in joy. I was helping someone prepare for their wedding. We were picking out bridal wear and bridal "hair". Even the men in the wedding were wearing gowns and flowing hair. I didn't think it was odd at all. As we happily sorted through rack after rack of gowns, I found myself a few inches off of the floor, hovering, until one of the other wedding party would reach up and gently land me. I found my uncle Dale was in the party, and I was so happy I nearly floated away! He looked so handsome and whole, like he did when he was young. (Not like now, snaggletoothed and shaggy haired, wearing second hand Margueritaville shirts and flipflops year-round.) It isn't that he's that old, he's only 50, but he's not a good 50. He's a vagrant 50 and he makes me so sad. But there, in my dream, it made me so happy so see him. I cry now just writing it down. I think I'll go swing.

The best of both worlds today - my family and poetry.

I talked to or saw all my kids and spent hours with Tyler today. Then Karl and I went to a reading in Chicago at The Fixx Coffee Shop. Why so far for a date? To hear and see my good friend Jill, and to do something different than going to a movie.

Jill was great, as always, and totally inspiring. I also heard Reb Livingston and spent some time talking to her afterwards- she is the editor of No Tell Motel, online mag and publishing. She was great too. The third reader was a fiction writer, in contrast to the two poets, and Karl and I both enjoyed her story.

After the readings 8 or 9 of us went to a bar a block away and talked till around 11ish - maybe closer to 12. It was loud, but I think we all heard parts of our conversations. I met some really interesting writers and poets - now it's after 2 and I'm too wired to sleep. I hope Vik wakes himself up for school!

I was inspired to start something, Not uplifting but so what.


If we had met before
the meds to relax, to sleep, just to be-
before you found me on the floor of the john
in some bar downtown
clothes in a heap and no cell service.
If we had met before
when I kept a day-timer
and went to work and didn't hurt
you might respect me.
Now I don't care.


Okay - that's out of my system. Maybe I can sleep a few hours, everyone else in the house seems to do it just fine.

I mailed off two "religious" pieces to some Canadian magazine running a "religious" edition. I had to take it to the actual post office because I had to purchase an IRC. That was a first for me, and a first for the postal employee as well. She had to call in backup, but we managed to get it done and out the door. So now I just wait and see. It's time to send out the "Ignobility" piece as well. Yesterday I started another Ekphrasis while salad gnoshing at Panera - Self Portrait as Decoy. Another Julie Heffernan work. I'm thinking about hanging out at Brauer Museum on Tuesday to find another artist to ekphrasisize. Why Tuesday? Cuz Vik has a field trip there with his drawing class and I just wanna freak him out. I'm his mother. It's my job.

It seems for such a long time my creative well was dirt bare, plum dry. All I could think about was getting through the day, or part of a day. And then the next.

Some switch was flipped last weekend, before our laborious day celebration. I read a little article about someone setting up an authors retreat in a little one bedroom rundown house, and I wanted to be there. I wanted to get a stipend to go off into the woods and write and drink tea and have no television and limited internet access, well, that may be going to far, but you get the gist. No one to take care of but myself. Follow my own inner clock. Write in the middle of the night if I wanted without someone asking "Where are you going? Can you bring me some water on the way back? Check the thermostat I think the fan is running" and crap like that. I know that's selfish, but what are writing retreats for is not to be selfish and get some writing accomplished.

Well, no one is granting me any moolah and loaning me a cabin, so don't get all excited. But I did check my duotrope message and make some notes, checked out some sites. THAT is a big step - a long way from monitoring my own elimination and water intake.

From there I embarked upon the adventure of Ekphrasis, and that is where I am now, actively sailing on the Ekphrasis river. Not floating on a raft, mind you. There are sails to raise and jibs to jibber and anchors to hoist and masts to master. Ok, I don't really know any sailing jargon, but it's an active journey. I shared my first semi rough piece at Blank SLate last night to pretty high acclaim, so today I once again tweaked "Ignobility" based on Self Portrait as Booty by Julie Heffernan, after a day or so (you have to let these things set after removing from the oven) I will be sending it off to Mississippi Review for the October Theme issue. Fingers Crossed. I'm going to try some more trips down this same river after I portage my boat back upstream. I don't want to end up too far from home cuz I still have to make supper and watch my grandson.

 Laundry has got to be one of the results of sin. And dirty dishes. Is also the result of sin. No matter how many times I wash and put away either of them there is always more. Was it Sisyphus who had to keep rolling the ball up the hill forever and ever? That's what it's like - always doing it, yet it's never done. Since I didn't offend Zeus, it must be the result of the fall of Man. Adam got weeds and the sweat of his brow, yada yada yada. Eve got childbirth and housework - so much the worse punishment. Adam gets to retire but Eve's work is never done, unless she knocks off Adam and eliminates all his stanky loinclothes and crusty coconut bowls.

The voices in my head, they do have themselves some genius ideas.

 I'm sorry, but I am NOT happy with the Doctor's methods! Wiping Donna's memory, when the entire rest of the planet had this incredible adventure, is just not fair play! I mean - she did so much for him personally, and for the galaxy. Can't she have something nice for herself? Some self confidence, a feeling of achievement? No, he takes that all away because he can't find any other way to navigate their problem. It's all about him - just like a man. If he is so wonderful he should find a way to tune down his brain in her head so she can continue to function with all that intelligence and electrical stimulation happening in their. Maybe a good orgasm would calm it all down. Did he try that? Nope, just wiped her slate clean. I would have been happier with the whole thing if she would have died in his arms of a massive stroke, looking into his eyes with full understanding of all she had done, of all she had meant in the scope of the universe. She was more than a temp, and always had been. Why did he take that away from her.

[Oh, and what's with multisexual Cap't Jack that he couldn't even give a girl a hug? I thought he would hump anything and he can't reassure a girl with a stinkin hug? Even Owen woulda reached out in compassion, if he were still alive. Sheesh, I'm so disappointed in these British men.] 

 

 Sometimes I feel like such a lazy bitch. I had Tyler over three long days in a row and now I'm totally wasted today - and itchy. So I took a hot bath in case I had something itchy on me - my eyes were so itchy last night I felt like scratching them out. Now I'm clean and lazy and itchy. So I took some benadryl and am so tired on top of worn out. All I want to do is eat sugar and sleep. I drove to the bank between naps to do some important banking, and bought a medium blizzard on the way home. Then I took a nap. Then I drove Vik's friend Steve home, and we stopped for a bag of gas station donut holes. I made a few phone calls and now I want to take another nap. Thanks benadryl.

I told my son I would not watch the baby today or tomorrow so tough cookies. Yumm, I love cookies. He has two baseball games to umpire, and I didn't sign up for littleleague duty. Plus I'm too exhausted today. And we have plans tomorrow as a family. So maybe I'm not totally bitchy, but my guilt trigger went off and I feel bad about it. So I'm going back to recliner, which is like going back to bed, except it's in the living room, in the recliner.

 Scary - I totally forgot I wrote this entry this morning! It's been a longer day then usual.

 The wedding is two weeks past and I feel as if all the oomph is gone outta me. My year was planned around this grandios event, and now I have no direction. Poor Vik, he wants us to take a vacation, but I don't think there is any moolah left. Maybe we can just visit some friends downstate.

I've tried reaching out to a few girl friends, but everyone is crazy busy still. Harumph. I SHOULD clean the house. I SHOULD weed the flowerbeds. I SHOULD balance the check book. But I don't want to do any of those things. I'm uninspired, maybe emotionally burned out. I was gonna call mom and cry on her shoulder, but I just got an e-mail from her that her basement flooded this past weekend and she is oer her head with work to clean up the workroom. So I got nothing really to cry about - 

Wait - the phone is ringing...it's Foo Foo. She needs my help at the SS office changing her name and the license bureau, ditto. Okay, now I have purpose - she needs me for me, not for money or entertainment. OKAY - I'm outta here.