Hey guys, heres a little story I wrote a few weeks back. Just a quick little trip into my scary mind.
Also, I've started posting my short stories, fanfiction and drabbles over on Freedom Of Speech Fanfiction. Visit me!
Anyway, here's my story "Karma".
Enjoy,
<3
Brianna
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He watched her from across the street as she exited the club. His black 2001 Nissan Sentra was the perfect car for watching someone. It’s was low-key, and no one ever noticed it.
She was just as beautiful as ever. Her long, wavy brown hair blew gently in the night wind as she walked down the street to the parking garage where she had parked exactly 93 minutes before. She was wearing a bright red, strapless dress; it was cut above her knees and bunched slightly in the front, towards her breasts, causing several small but noticeable waves in the fabric.
He’d watched her buy it. Three weeks ago at a store called “Into the closet” it was a higher end-designer boutique downtown. Finding parking had been terrible, but eventually he managed to find a spot – two blocks up. So he’d parked and taken residence at one of the small café’s across the street. He’s watched through the window as she picked up a long-sleeve black dress, and put it back. A Royal blue strapless met the same fate. But then he saw her pull the red dress off the rack, and immediately knew that she would purchase it. After all, red was her color.
He watched as she dug into her clutch for her car keys before walking into the parking garage. He turned the key and the Sentra’s engine gave a slight whine as it started. He waited for her red sports car to drive past him, and he waited until two cars were between them before he pulled out. He could never be too careful with this one.
He drove behind her for eight miles back to her apartment, where she parked in her usual space behind the four-story apartment building. She walked around to the front and held the railing down the stairs that led into her basement apartment from the sidewalk. He idled a few houses away until he saw her living room light click on, and with one last look towards the house, drove back to his own.
The next day was the first Sunday of the month, and he knew she wouldn’t leave her apartment until at least eight that night. She’d stop at Mediterraneo, a well-known restaurant on the other side of town. She’d have a cup of wine and purchase a bottle. From there she’d walk the streets of the city, doing nothing in particular. Talking to strangers, stopping into any shops or bakeries that were still open. She’d walk back to her car at nine thirty, and the drive to St Peter and Paul’s Cathedral.
He had plenty of time to fix himself a leisurely lunch and go over his plan a few more times. He picked the paper up from his front yard and gave a small wave to his next-door neighbor, Paula. She was in her sixties, and didn’t like him very much. Instead of returning the gesture she gave him a suspicious look and scurried back into her own house, forgetting about her own paper.
He shrugged, and wandered back into his own home, tossing the newspaper onto his kitchen table and pouring himself a cup of coffee. The headline today read “Police close to arrest in slicer murders”. The article went into all the gory details of the killer that had hunted had been preying on the city for almost a year, three young girls, all brutally raped and clinically sliced to pieces in their own apartments, their bodies then showered with love poems and photos and flowers. Sickening.
He couldn’t help but hum a little tune to himself as he read it.
Later, he read the instruction book to his digital camera. It had been working just fine this last year, but in the last four months any photo of his love he tried to take came out blurry and un-recognizable, as if he had been swinging it back and forth when the photo had been taken. Making several adjustments, he checked the battery one more time and pushed it into it’s case.
He took a shower and changed into a suit. He noted it was nearing seven thirty. He was running late.
She was wearing a black knee length skirt with a long sleeve flared cream top, and heels.
She sat at her normal spot on a stool at the bar and the bartender approached her with an order of red wine without being asked. He watched her from a booth, picking at his salad.
She sipped daintily and dabbed her lips after the first sip. She handed it back with a shake of her head. The bartended nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later he returned with a different bottle, and she smiled at him and nodded after sampling it.
She sat and talked to the man, who took his break to have a conversation with her that left them both laughing.
He glared harshly at the man; no one deserved her laugh but him. It belonged to him. He was the one working for it. He stabbed into a piece of chicken angrily, picturing the bartender in its place. He smiled a little.
The St Peter and Paul Cathedral was over 135 years old, and massive even by church standards. It took a full block on all sides, and was built entirely of old, browned bricks. A bell tower was built on each side of it, towering well over the roof; one large, circled stain glass window was built above the single arched door. She parked down the street in designated church parking, and then gracefully step up the stairs and through the door.
The first Sunday of every month the church held a ten-o’clock night mass. In the four months he’d been watching her, she had yet to miss one. There were never many people at the night mass, and he never had a trouble finding parking. He’d found in the months of following her that she was highly religious, and it made her even more delectable in his eyes. She attended confession every Saturday night at 5:00-5:45, but never attending the morning Masses.
He’d figured that she was a night owl, he seldom if ever watched her during the morning. He’d found with much research and online subscriptions that she was a historian, 25, originally from Connecticut. That was all he knew. He had found it quiet strange, after all, all of his previous loves had lots of information on the Internet. Profiling sites were a key to helping him learn their habits. He’d found their parents, their hobbies, even their dogs name in that way.
But not this one, he knew she owned a computer, because she’d brought it in to the store for maintenance a month or so back. He liked that she didn’t put everything out there though. It made her more interesting; everyday he’d learn another thing about her. Oh how quickly he fell in love.
He’d seen her first five months ago, after his last love, Stacy rejected him. He’s taught her a lesson, but it still left a horrible hole in his heart. He was still working at the college library when she’d come in, and asked about a book on French history. His eyes locked on her and he’d known he was in love. She had a perfect, sharp face, with light skin and blue eyes, she was only a few inches shorter then his six feet, and had a catish lithe body shape, her breast’s were a perfect handful, and her hair fell in thick waves well past her shoulders.
He’s asked her what time of French history she was looking for, and she’d told him the French wars of religion. He’d checked the computer and, ignoring the “On shelves” status of the books, told her that they were out and she would have to return the next week for them.
She clicked her tongue in an annoyed fashion and batted her eyes at him. “That’s a bit inconvenient for me at the moment” her voice was low and melodic. Beautiful. She’d reached for a piece of scrap paper next to the computer and asked for a pen. She’d taken it, brushing her fingers across his own slightly, and wrote something down.
“I know you aren’t really supposed to…” she pushed the small piece of paper towards him “..do things like this” she pressed it to his hand, and when he looked down he saw an address written in beautiful flowing script “But maybe, you could make an exception and deliver them to me when they come in?” she smiled at him “It would help me a great deal”
He looked down at the paper and gulped, glancing back at her he nodded quickly, telling her there would be no problem and he knew exactly where she was.
She’d smiled once last time and left. He couldn’t believe his luck! The next day after work he’d delivered the books, hoping to tell her there was a problem with the card catalog and they were in after all. He’d had it all planned. She’d open the door, and smile at him in surprise. She’d thank him over and over for the favor and finally invite him in and offer him some coffee. That would be it.
It never occurred to him that she wouldn’t answer the door.
And that had been it. The time had never been right again, so he followed her. Watched her. Loved her from afar. But he knew his time with her was ending. He could feel it.
It was time. He was seething in anger as he parked his car a block for her house and pulled on a dark hoodie. She’d been to a club or to Mediterraneo’s every night that week, wearing low cut shirts and short skirts with out stockings, bearing herself to the world, and that bartender.
He’d even gone out of his way to see her, sitting himself at a bench facing the sidewalk, a place that she walked by every night and six o’clock on her nightly stroll. She’d walked right past him, giving him only a single glance before walking by without a word, or a smile.
He wondered what went wrong as he pulled his backpack onto his back, it held his camera, his love poems, his knives, a roll of duct tape, and a pack of condoms.
He had loved her, with everything he’d had, he’d done everything he could to show her that, and what did she do? Ignore him! Tease him! Use him!
He’d make her pay.
Oh, he’d teach her a lesson.
The apartment was dark when he approached, but he knew she was there. She’d come back from a club only an hour before. It was dark and he tripped twice on the stairs.
Finally, he came to her red-painted door and knocked. He heard movement inside, and her voice called from the other side, “Who is it?”
“It’s the delivery boy” he called in a mock happy tone. “From the Library, remember? Your books are overdue, I thought I’d come and pick them up for you”
“Oh.” He heard her say as the deadbolt clicked open. “Come on…” he pushed passed her, pushing her harshly into the living room, and slamming the door closed behind him.
“What are you doing?” she asked in an angry tone, and he noted that there weren’t any lights on.
“I loved you” he started, and she stared. “I loved you so much, but you were just like all the others, just a dirty little slut” she backed a way a step and he unzipped his backpack, rummaging for his duct tape. She ran from the room, down the hall, and he caught up with her before she reached the bathroom directly in front of them.
She spun on him and punched him, hard. Harder then he’d ever been hit in his life. He spun around and hit the ground, halfway in the hall and halfway in what looked like a bedroom.
He brought his hand up to his face, pulling it away and faintly being able to see blood in the candle lit room. He lifted his head and began to push himself to his feet when he noticed that there was no bed in the room. At least, not a normal bed. Instead, there was a dark wooden casket, laying atop a large table. He looked around the room, squinting in the dark, on a table to his right he saw a candle and several bottles and a glass full of red wine from Mediterraneo’s, except now, up close, the wine didn’t look so much like wine. It was thicker, with a richer color.
The walls were red. The candles were red. The rug was red. He looked down at his hands and wiped the blood on his jeans, feeling something –he wasn’t sure what- click into place somewhere in the back of his head.
He turned back into the hall, where she hadn’t moved “What the fuck is-“ he started loudly, but went silent when he looked a little closer at her. She was smiling at him, a sharp dangerous looking eyetooth pointing out from above her lip.
”What the fuck are-“ he began the question he already knew the answer to, but she hit him again, so hard this time that he fell backwards and banged his head against the edge of the casket. He slid to the floor in a crumble, and he gasped as the air was knocked out of him when she kicked him. The blow to the head had made everything a little hazy, and he was thankful that he couldn’t feel much.
She grabbed him from the back of his shirt, her claws grazing his back and causing him to bleed and began to drag him out of the room and down the hall with great ease.
And right before he blacked out for the final time in his miserable life, as he tried to claw his way out of her hold he heard her soft melodic voice pray,
“Bless us, oh Lord, and these gifts, for which we are about to receive…”
The hunter had become the hunted.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
I won't bother to write or phone you, I'll just rip the still beating heart from your chest.
Lets face it, whatever your gender, race or religion being attractive is tough.
Believe me, no matter how many people you see that pretty “popular” girl that you just love to hate surrounded by at that party you’re at with your friends, or how many numbers she gets, it isn’t all fun and games.
I, myself, have the confidence to admit I’m rather attractive. Most of us, if asked directly won’t admit being pretty. We’ll blow it off in a cute way that you really don’t mind.
Maybe it’s growing up in a society built on sex, or maybe it’s just something in our genes, but most reasonably good looking females with half a brain learn early what a gift it is to have a pretty face and a cute body. If you have more then half a brain, you figure out that charm counts for just as much.
Either way, we figure out that flirting is pretty much the best way to go in almost all situations, meeting new people, getting something you want, etc.
This doesn’t only work for boys of course. Whoever said that flirting is an art was dead on. If you do it right, say everything right, with enough laugh or enough softness, and with the proper body posture, subtle flirting works on girls too. No matter how straight they are. Eventually, to many of us pretty girls, flirting becomes second nature. It’s a part of us, and we don’t even think about it.
Both flirting and beauty alone can be trouble, mixed together they can be worse.
People naturally gravitate towards pretty people, maybe it’s a fascination or maybe it’s because people think if they surround themselves by pretty people, they themselves will feel better about their physical appearance.
In case you didn’t know it, I’ll be the first to vouche to the fact that girls hate pretty girls. They might even be best friends with the prettier girl, but deep down in side we all basically hate pretty girls.
So, on one hand, being a pretty girl is tough because other girls tend to hold beauty against one another. Like I said, fascination or self-esteem. And, seeing as self esteem doesn’t come from other people, you’re left with “friends” who are fascinated by you. But eventually, fascination runs out, and they realize that you’re pretty normal, with normal problems. You may even be a bit boring. For me any friendships with other females tend to not last very long due to barely hidden animosity. It could just start as as something joking on their part
“Oh gosh you are so hot”
“You’re freaking smoking”
When a female says this to another female, in a ‘friend’ like way there is no right answer.
You can go for the “Oh no, I’m really not”
Which will lead to more animosity down the road about what a bitch you are for not accepting compliments.
Or the second road is a polite “Thank you”.
Which will lead to more animosity down the road about what a self-centered bitch you are for agreeing with them.
Believe me, you can’t win.
So unless you can find a few close girlfriends who can see past pretty and care more about attitude, expect to be pretty alone on the gal-pal front.
Oh, but believe me, if you’re a pretty girl - You will never be fully lonely.
Because men are men, and men like pretty girls. Believe me, black, white, gay, straight, single, married, you’ll have a fan club. Or a collection, depending on how you handle them.
Growing up, and now especially, I find that I relate better (and have better friendships) with men.
Being a pretty girl with male-friends is an entirely different front. I’ve found that you meet a lot of guys because they want to get in your pants, or be your trophy boy and when they realize you don’t put out or aren’t interested, they lose interest pretty quickly as well.
There are other guys, who, while also at some point wanted to date/make-out/sex/cling/cuddle you, will stick around once they get to know you as a friend. Some will become the “Older Brother” type, while others will just be your best friend until they get a girlfriend, (you can’t be ‘just friends’ with a prettier girl then the one you’re currently dating, sorry boys) or lose interest.
It’s an interesting and rough scenario being pretty, and it leads to serious trust issues.
I have several male “best-friends”
There’s Luke, who I met through mutual friend. He had a crush on me, and we grew a friendship based on the sole fact that we hated all the same people. Go figure. We were super close for a couple of years, but he had some home problems and frankly and more important people and things to deal with then me. We still communicate everyday, and flirt a lot, but I would no longer call us close. Growing out of relationships sucks.
There’s Devin, who is probably one of the smartest kids you’d ever meet. He’s in boarding school now, and is only given one 10-minute phone call a month. He calls me every month, but the conversations (which make my month) go a lot like this:
“Hey Brianna, It’s Devin”
*lots of excited feminine noises and excited screeching”
After that he tells me about the hell they’re putting him through in school, and how he only have two or three more years left, and then his ten minutes are up.
There’s Jake, who I haven’t seen in a good two years. He lives about three hours away, and neither one of us have really pushed to go see each other. We talk online and make plans, but we never follow through.
And then there are the others, the numerous boys that text/call/IM me because they met me once and want to pushily “get to know me.” There’s the even more annoying group, a group of boys who decided at one point or the other that I was the love of their life and when they got turned down they took it personally and decided I was leading them on. Because I totally didn’t ignore every text/call/IM you sent me. Yes, I'm such a heartbreaker. Yeah. Right.
So where does that leave us?
The boys want to date you, and the girls all hate you.
No, I didn’t mean for that to rhyme.
It’s tiring, and sickening. And at the end of the day, who do you really have to call? Who do you have to complain and gossip and cry too?
At the end of the day, all us pretty girls have are ourselves, our self-confidence, the hope we may find people that don’t suck, and whatever gift someone sent us that day.
Maybe being normal and overlooked seems easier then being pretty.
Maybe being pretty is a lot lonelier then it looks.
Maybe you’ll think about that next time you’re using one of us to make yourself look good.
Goodnight.
<3
Dommers.
Believe me, no matter how many people you see that pretty “popular” girl that you just love to hate surrounded by at that party you’re at with your friends, or how many numbers she gets, it isn’t all fun and games.
I, myself, have the confidence to admit I’m rather attractive. Most of us, if asked directly won’t admit being pretty. We’ll blow it off in a cute way that you really don’t mind.
Maybe it’s growing up in a society built on sex, or maybe it’s just something in our genes, but most reasonably good looking females with half a brain learn early what a gift it is to have a pretty face and a cute body. If you have more then half a brain, you figure out that charm counts for just as much.
Either way, we figure out that flirting is pretty much the best way to go in almost all situations, meeting new people, getting something you want, etc.
This doesn’t only work for boys of course. Whoever said that flirting is an art was dead on. If you do it right, say everything right, with enough laugh or enough softness, and with the proper body posture, subtle flirting works on girls too. No matter how straight they are. Eventually, to many of us pretty girls, flirting becomes second nature. It’s a part of us, and we don’t even think about it.
Both flirting and beauty alone can be trouble, mixed together they can be worse.
People naturally gravitate towards pretty people, maybe it’s a fascination or maybe it’s because people think if they surround themselves by pretty people, they themselves will feel better about their physical appearance.
In case you didn’t know it, I’ll be the first to vouche to the fact that girls hate pretty girls. They might even be best friends with the prettier girl, but deep down in side we all basically hate pretty girls.
So, on one hand, being a pretty girl is tough because other girls tend to hold beauty against one another. Like I said, fascination or self-esteem. And, seeing as self esteem doesn’t come from other people, you’re left with “friends” who are fascinated by you. But eventually, fascination runs out, and they realize that you’re pretty normal, with normal problems. You may even be a bit boring. For me any friendships with other females tend to not last very long due to barely hidden animosity. It could just start as as something joking on their part
“Oh gosh you are so hot”
“You’re freaking smoking”
When a female says this to another female, in a ‘friend’ like way there is no right answer.
You can go for the “Oh no, I’m really not”
Which will lead to more animosity down the road about what a bitch you are for not accepting compliments.
Or the second road is a polite “Thank you”.
Which will lead to more animosity down the road about what a self-centered bitch you are for agreeing with them.
Believe me, you can’t win.
So unless you can find a few close girlfriends who can see past pretty and care more about attitude, expect to be pretty alone on the gal-pal front.
Oh, but believe me, if you’re a pretty girl - You will never be fully lonely.
Because men are men, and men like pretty girls. Believe me, black, white, gay, straight, single, married, you’ll have a fan club. Or a collection, depending on how you handle them.
Growing up, and now especially, I find that I relate better (and have better friendships) with men.
Being a pretty girl with male-friends is an entirely different front. I’ve found that you meet a lot of guys because they want to get in your pants, or be your trophy boy and when they realize you don’t put out or aren’t interested, they lose interest pretty quickly as well.
There are other guys, who, while also at some point wanted to date/make-out/sex/cling/cuddle you, will stick around once they get to know you as a friend. Some will become the “Older Brother” type, while others will just be your best friend until they get a girlfriend, (you can’t be ‘just friends’ with a prettier girl then the one you’re currently dating, sorry boys) or lose interest.
It’s an interesting and rough scenario being pretty, and it leads to serious trust issues.
I have several male “best-friends”
There’s Luke, who I met through mutual friend. He had a crush on me, and we grew a friendship based on the sole fact that we hated all the same people. Go figure. We were super close for a couple of years, but he had some home problems and frankly and more important people and things to deal with then me. We still communicate everyday, and flirt a lot, but I would no longer call us close. Growing out of relationships sucks.
There’s Devin, who is probably one of the smartest kids you’d ever meet. He’s in boarding school now, and is only given one 10-minute phone call a month. He calls me every month, but the conversations (which make my month) go a lot like this:
“Hey Brianna, It’s Devin”
*lots of excited feminine noises and excited screeching”
After that he tells me about the hell they’re putting him through in school, and how he only have two or three more years left, and then his ten minutes are up.
There’s Jake, who I haven’t seen in a good two years. He lives about three hours away, and neither one of us have really pushed to go see each other. We talk online and make plans, but we never follow through.
And then there are the others, the numerous boys that text/call/IM me because they met me once and want to pushily “get to know me.” There’s the even more annoying group, a group of boys who decided at one point or the other that I was the love of their life and when they got turned down they took it personally and decided I was leading them on. Because I totally didn’t ignore every text/call/IM you sent me. Yes, I'm such a heartbreaker. Yeah. Right.
So where does that leave us?
The boys want to date you, and the girls all hate you.
No, I didn’t mean for that to rhyme.
It’s tiring, and sickening. And at the end of the day, who do you really have to call? Who do you have to complain and gossip and cry too?
At the end of the day, all us pretty girls have are ourselves, our self-confidence, the hope we may find people that don’t suck, and whatever gift someone sent us that day.
Maybe being normal and overlooked seems easier then being pretty.
Maybe being pretty is a lot lonelier then it looks.
Maybe you’ll think about that next time you’re using one of us to make yourself look good.
Goodnight.
<3
Dommers.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Changes
My mother has gone on a crusade these last couple of weeks. She's insisting on changing most things about the way we live. I've never talked much about my mother, simply because she's my mother. She's always here. Always around, I've just never had the urge to really talk about her unless the subjects of parents come up.
I'm not exactly sure how to describe my mother, she's kind of like a bi-polar product of the 60's and 70's. Bi-polar in the sense that she'll go and protest war and dolphin killings (The dolphins were my idea) but she'll also sit back at home plotting horrible revenge on others.
She's an extraordinary human being. She spend most of her 20's and 30's taking care of touring bands, many of which were very famous (some still are). She made sure nobody was too drunk (or high) to get on stage and do their job.
You'd think raising children would be a breeze for her.
She's never really treated me like a child, which has it's up's and downs. On one hand, she pretty much sees me (and) treats me like an equal. Which is great because I can talk to her about pretty much everything. On the other hand, because she sees me as her equal she sometimes expects me to be more independent then I actually am.
It's an odd relationship.
Anyway, she's pulling the old "out with the old! In the with new!" Mentality for the new year, which would be fine. Except this year she actually means it.
She's re-arranging the house and talking about colleges and traveling and other things I should be doing.
It's seriously freaking me out.
I don't usually do well with change.
Anyway, my question is - What do you guys want to change/do this year?
Here's my list:
Get License.
Get Annoying-Homeschool-Highschool-Diploma-Signed.
Start in one of the many dog-training schools.
Be out of New England Next Winter.
Host at least one showing of "The Cove" somewhere in Rhode Island. (www.thecovemovie.com)
Make it so I can visit Hopi at least twice a week.
Get several allergy tests so I can stop getting constant lung-infections. T_T
I have several others, but these are the big ones.
What are yours?
<3
Dommers
I'm not exactly sure how to describe my mother, she's kind of like a bi-polar product of the 60's and 70's. Bi-polar in the sense that she'll go and protest war and dolphin killings (The dolphins were my idea) but she'll also sit back at home plotting horrible revenge on others.
She's an extraordinary human being. She spend most of her 20's and 30's taking care of touring bands, many of which were very famous (some still are). She made sure nobody was too drunk (or high) to get on stage and do their job.
You'd think raising children would be a breeze for her.
She's never really treated me like a child, which has it's up's and downs. On one hand, she pretty much sees me (and) treats me like an equal. Which is great because I can talk to her about pretty much everything. On the other hand, because she sees me as her equal she sometimes expects me to be more independent then I actually am.
It's an odd relationship.
Anyway, she's pulling the old "out with the old! In the with new!" Mentality for the new year, which would be fine. Except this year she actually means it.
She's re-arranging the house and talking about colleges and traveling and other things I should be doing.
It's seriously freaking me out.
I don't usually do well with change.
Anyway, my question is - What do you guys want to change/do this year?
Here's my list:
Get License.
Get Annoying-Homeschool-Highschool-Diploma-Signed.
Start in one of the many dog-training schools.
Be out of New England Next Winter.
Host at least one showing of "The Cove" somewhere in Rhode Island. (www.thecovemovie.com)
Make it so I can visit Hopi at least twice a week.
Get several allergy tests so I can stop getting constant lung-infections. T_T
I have several others, but these are the big ones.
What are yours?
<3
Dommers
Monday, December 21, 2009
My luck is changing? Maybe?
Just thought I’d throw a quick update at you explaining something exciting that happened to me recently.
It’s been a long time since I finally made a plan for what I want to do with my life.
I decided I wanted to train dogs.
Not just any dogs though. I want to train Personal Protection Dogs and Security dogs.
I’ve met several of these types of trainers in the past, and I’ve seen their dogs. I can see myself working with them and never ever getting bored.
Anyway, I looked into Dog-training Colleges and such. None of it really caught my attention. Most of them are just over-the-net services that you can send money too in exchange for a diploma, and with the ones I’ve found so far they mostly teach basic obedience and problem solving.
Don’t get me wrong. Obedience is obviously the ground work for everything else you want to do with your dog. But I can’t really see paying thousands of dollars to learn how to do things I (and my dogs) already *know* how to do.
This put me in an odd position. Even while being home schooled everything seems based on tests/diploma’s. So not having a piece of paper to back me up with whatever career choice I make is actually a bit frightening.
Anyway, I sent out a resume for a couple of animal-based companies around the state to start myself off. Most of them were doggy daycares/training centers, which - while not exactly what I want to do would help me gain more knowledge and a better idea of what to do.
I also contacted the adoption agencies I’ve been working with over the last couple of years, offering to train their foster dogs in the basic commands. This was more for me to have something to do with my time, and also to help the poor dogs. I know for a fact how hard it is to adopt an adult dog that doesn’t understand sit or stay.
So, I’m sitting here, wondering exactly what my next step is, when my mother comes in and tells me I’ll be DJ-ing for a bunch of young home schoolers for a party. (Something that was totally random to me)
So, I invite several friends, Bunny backed out because we were/are fighting, but Trina agreed to come along with me.
After setting up and starting some music for the young -tiny- children. We sit back and relax. The kids were wonderful, and made all of us feel old. Eventually three other girls in our age range show up, and I invite them over to sit with us so they wouldn’t feel so awkward.
Trina left early, and I had time to get to know two of the girls my age, One of them named Lucy.
Anyway, hours later, as we were packing up and preparing to leave we talked about other times we could get together, what parties we were going to, what groups we were involved in and the conversation eventually turned towards dogs (mine being in the car as my mother ran in to talk to someone).
The following conversation ensued:
Me: *something about wanting to be a dog trainer*
Lucy: Oh! My Step-dad trains dogs.
Me: Oh, does he have a company or...?
Lucy: Yeah. It’s called Solid K9 Training.
*shocked silence*
Me: YOUR STEP FATHER IS JEFF GELLMAN?!?!?!
Lucy: You....know...him?
(At this point I would like to mention that yes. I know MANY dog trainers by name, having never ever met them. But Jeff has a largish company in RI and is very very well known in the dog training communities because of his...odd training methods. I’ve heard lots about him. Many great things. His dogs are always well trained. Some bad things. He’s arrogant, ignorant...blah, blah,blah. This being the dog world, which seems to be one of the most back-stabbing worlds there is, you can only take bad things said about someone very lightly.)
*Back to the conversation*
Me: Of course I know who he is! I was going to contact him about helping finish up Uma’s training!
Lucy:....would you like to go to one of his demos?
Me: *silence*
Lucy: I can probably get you in for free. It’ll be really fancy at one of the Hotels down town, cocktails and stuff.
So yeah...thats pretty much what happened. It was probably one of the most exciting things to happen to me in months. Thats a sad thought. Lets not dwell on it.
Anyway! I’m going to one of Jeff’s Demo’s in January!
And, I’m introducing Lucy to another Homeschool group I’m involved in called Voyagers, which should be fun.
So theres my short update.
<3
Dommers.
It’s been a long time since I finally made a plan for what I want to do with my life.
I decided I wanted to train dogs.
Not just any dogs though. I want to train Personal Protection Dogs and Security dogs.
I’ve met several of these types of trainers in the past, and I’ve seen their dogs. I can see myself working with them and never ever getting bored.
Anyway, I looked into Dog-training Colleges and such. None of it really caught my attention. Most of them are just over-the-net services that you can send money too in exchange for a diploma, and with the ones I’ve found so far they mostly teach basic obedience and problem solving.
Don’t get me wrong. Obedience is obviously the ground work for everything else you want to do with your dog. But I can’t really see paying thousands of dollars to learn how to do things I (and my dogs) already *know* how to do.
This put me in an odd position. Even while being home schooled everything seems based on tests/diploma’s. So not having a piece of paper to back me up with whatever career choice I make is actually a bit frightening.
Anyway, I sent out a resume for a couple of animal-based companies around the state to start myself off. Most of them were doggy daycares/training centers, which - while not exactly what I want to do would help me gain more knowledge and a better idea of what to do.
I also contacted the adoption agencies I’ve been working with over the last couple of years, offering to train their foster dogs in the basic commands. This was more for me to have something to do with my time, and also to help the poor dogs. I know for a fact how hard it is to adopt an adult dog that doesn’t understand sit or stay.
So, I’m sitting here, wondering exactly what my next step is, when my mother comes in and tells me I’ll be DJ-ing for a bunch of young home schoolers for a party. (Something that was totally random to me)
So, I invite several friends, Bunny backed out because we were/are fighting, but Trina agreed to come along with me.
After setting up and starting some music for the young -tiny- children. We sit back and relax. The kids were wonderful, and made all of us feel old. Eventually three other girls in our age range show up, and I invite them over to sit with us so they wouldn’t feel so awkward.
Trina left early, and I had time to get to know two of the girls my age, One of them named Lucy.
Anyway, hours later, as we were packing up and preparing to leave we talked about other times we could get together, what parties we were going to, what groups we were involved in and the conversation eventually turned towards dogs (mine being in the car as my mother ran in to talk to someone).
The following conversation ensued:
Me: *something about wanting to be a dog trainer*
Lucy: Oh! My Step-dad trains dogs.
Me: Oh, does he have a company or...?
Lucy: Yeah. It’s called Solid K9 Training.
*shocked silence*
Me: YOUR STEP FATHER IS JEFF GELLMAN?!?!?!
Lucy: You....know...him?
(At this point I would like to mention that yes. I know MANY dog trainers by name, having never ever met them. But Jeff has a largish company in RI and is very very well known in the dog training communities because of his...odd training methods. I’ve heard lots about him. Many great things. His dogs are always well trained. Some bad things. He’s arrogant, ignorant...blah, blah,blah. This being the dog world, which seems to be one of the most back-stabbing worlds there is, you can only take bad things said about someone very lightly.)
*Back to the conversation*
Me: Of course I know who he is! I was going to contact him about helping finish up Uma’s training!
Lucy:....would you like to go to one of his demos?
Me: *silence*
Lucy: I can probably get you in for free. It’ll be really fancy at one of the Hotels down town, cocktails and stuff.
So yeah...thats pretty much what happened. It was probably one of the most exciting things to happen to me in months. Thats a sad thought. Lets not dwell on it.
Anyway! I’m going to one of Jeff’s Demo’s in January!
And, I’m introducing Lucy to another Homeschool group I’m involved in called Voyagers, which should be fun.
So theres my short update.
<3
Dommers.
Happy Holidays/SeeyaStalkers
Hey guys,
I haven't been blogging much, things have been really busy over here in New England, and I really haven't had much to say. But I'm going to be typing up a few little updates a bit later.
I'm currently busy deleting everyone I don't actually *know* off of my contact lists, I've ended up will a bunch of friends-of-friends or random other people I've met once or twice, anyway, I'm sick of random IM's or texts or comments and all that other junk you get while having accounts on the interwebs.
If you ARE one of these people and I'm no longer on your AIM/facebook buddy list (yes, I AM blocking you people), you can stalk/contact me on my twitter page here: <3
It's a terrible stalking tool seeing as I NEVER update it. But It's a good way to get in touch with me.
Anyway, I'll be updating a bit later, lots of exciting news.
In the mean time:
Heres a little video from the other day, it was Uma's first snowstorm. (The German Shepherd in the Orange)
Happy Holidays.
I haven't been blogging much, things have been really busy over here in New England, and I really haven't had much to say. But I'm going to be typing up a few little updates a bit later.
I'm currently busy deleting everyone I don't actually *know* off of my contact lists, I've ended up will a bunch of friends-of-friends or random other people I've met once or twice, anyway, I'm sick of random IM's or texts or comments and all that other junk you get while having accounts on the interwebs.
If you ARE one of these people and I'm no longer on your AIM/facebook buddy list (yes, I AM blocking you people), you can stalk/contact me on my twitter page here: <3
It's a terrible stalking tool seeing as I NEVER update it. But It's a good way to get in touch with me.
Anyway, I'll be updating a bit later, lots of exciting news.
In the mean time:
Heres a little video from the other day, it was Uma's first snowstorm. (The German Shepherd in the Orange)
Happy Holidays.
Dommers
Monday, November 23, 2009
Irreconcilable differences
So I’m sitting in my tub today, the tub I just recently scoured on my hands and knees so it was clean enough for me to bathe in. I’m sitting here, trying to get some peace and quiet. Just trying to escape the day, I’m nibbling on a piece of Dove chocolate, trying to make it so the stress I’m currently feeling doesn’t make it so I can no longer move my neck. Again.
I’m sitting there, after stepping in when it was much too hot, hot enough to kill off the first two or three layers of skin but not enough to scald.
I’m sitting there, thinking how, no matter how much I scrub the damn tub, a tug that’s older then my sixteen years, It’s still going to be dirty. The walls of the shower are still not going to be fully painted, but chipping, the places that should be chalked aren’t. Another problem I can’t fix with cleaning is the fact that the tub is too small, or the fact that it will constantly drain even when you use a stopper, or the fact that I can hear much richer- I’ll-tell-you-all-about-my-designer-clothes-as-I-bitch-at-you neighbors yelling at each other through the bathroom wall.
I hate my apartment.
So I’m sitting there, thinking about everything that is currently stressing me in my life, I’m failing school, I’m behind in my Nano, My dogs are depressed, My house is dirty, my mothers thought on what she wants to do in life jump around like a flea on a hot plate, I’m still single, No, I can’t eat a pork chop without Shake and bake, that’s another thing, I’m too weak to stay a permanent vegetarian, my friends are worried I’m dying, oh and my uncle.
Yes, this blog is about to turn into a story about my uncle. Be prepared.
At this point I’d like to give you a little insight on how close I am to my uncle:
I’d like to say that if he drove off a cliff, somehow got pinned down, was still alive, and slowly withered away over the course of days from dehydration in the hot Texas sun, you wouldn’t see me crying.
It sounds cruel, but unfortunately it’s true.
I’ll be turning seventeen in ten days, and my uncle will be flying out. Why would he do that when I dislike him so much?
Wellll…. that’s another back-story.
My uncle, bless his heart, is insane.
He’s in his thirties, is a fundamentalist Christian and makes Weapons of Mass Destruction for a living.
If you can’t see what’s wrong with that sentence then you’re one of them and nothing I say from here on out will make any sense to you.
So, I’d like to say I don’t know my uncle very well; all I know about him is that he’s very good at treating people like shit and then pretending nothing happened. In fact, after many hours of therapy my therapist has found then many of my current mental and emotion issues (the whole wagon full) stemmed from the rejection I received as a child by my family. At this point I’d like to mention something, my mother is a Heroin addict,
who had issues bonding with her children. I’m sure the drug’s just destroyed those important bonding brain-neurons or whatever. But having a mother that doesn’t give a rats ass about you does leave you with a few problems. Most of which I’ve gotten over.
My grandmother has raised me since birth, so she received the title of ‘mom’. So whenever (if ever) I talk about my mom in this blog, she’s actually my grandmother.
Seeing as she is technically my grandmother, and his mother, my strained relationship with him just gets more and more complicated.
Anyway, as far as the rejection goes I’ll use the example of my uncles wedding, which was several years ago.
I was younger and naïve. Having been raised under the guise that my uncle loved me a whole bunch, and was generally a super-awesome-not-a-total-asshole- type of person.
I’ll start at the Airport, my mother and I flew to California for a week and a half so that we could be involved and help out and do all of those things your supposed to do when someone in your family is getting married.
We’d never met his wife, and I don’t know how to describe her. She’s a Californian, bleach blond, fundamentalist, who is way to good to talk to people like you, and if you look at her wrong, she’ll probably throw a tantrum and start crying. From the minute I met her I began to understand the definition of ‘passive aggressive’
From the minute we stepped off of the plane she didn’t say a word to us.
No. Seriously. My mother tried to give her a hug and she covered her chest and took a step back, glaring. She said nothing. My uncle made the excuse of her being ‘shy’. Shy my ass.
She was pretty much one of the most unwelcoming people I’d ever met, and having met her mother and father, I see where she gets it from, but still think she should have been beaten much more as a child. If not for anything but my enjoyment.
Anyway, that night we were brought to a small supermarket, to pick up a few things for the hotel with a kitchenette so we wouldn’t have to constantly eat out.
The car ride was pretty much made in silence. What with the wife being shy and all. We were later dropped off at the hotel with plans made to have dinner the next night. I realize now I forgot to add that we hadn’t seen my uncle in years. He’s always much too busy to bother with the little people in Rhode Island. What with us being lower class citizens and all.
Anyway, the next day My uncle and the wife were busy making last minute wedding plans, making favors and checking decorations and fun family things like that. Fun family things we weren’t invited to attend. We were invited to a cookout that night to ‘meet the new family’. After a fiasco with a rental car (which in the end we weren’t allowed to get because of the lack of a credit card, my mother had the cash, but the wife shook her head no, and we couldn’t use his) We were driven to the wife’s families house. After being yelled at and not allowed to change into the clothes we’d bought for the occasion, we looked like crap.
The ‘family’ it seemed, couldn’t be bothered to show up it seems, as the wife’s sisters and brothers didn’t attend. The wife’s mother and father were there, as well as one of her nieces and her nephew.
Her father, who was watching a game on TV couldn’t be bothered to stand and greet us, he is also a fundamentalist Christian and lives under the rule of “women were put on earth to serve man”. This leads me to believe he has a very small penis, and I wonder if his wife didn’t have to cheat on him to get the children she had.
He lounged about on his couch, ignoring us. My uncle introduced us to everyone (remember, the wife doesn’t talk). And then, they were celebrating the nieces birthday, coming out with a large gift and a long speech about how they could never forget about her birthday. I’d probably never ever felt so out of place. It added insult to injury that the bastard couldn’t call on my birthday. Ever.
Anyway, after the gift giving I was ordered to put on my swimsuit, which, being shy and scared out of my mind made everything seem ten times worse.
The wifes father was spending his time trying to bait her into an argument, knowing that she was a Liberal. It had been right after Ray-Charles had passed, and when my mother mentioned the shame of it, he replied with “Why? It’s one less nigger in this country”. He also mentioned, knowing that my mother had been the production manager for Willie Nelson for several years, how much joy he’d get if someone got their act together and ‘blew the redneck up’.
During all of this I was hanging around the edge of the pool, seeing as I can’t swim. The wifes niece motioned me further in, and promptly proceeded to try to drown me. I never actually admitted that to anyone until today.
By the time dinner was ready, I was crying and soaked and terrified. As ‘punishment’ by the family for being childish I was made to spend the rest of the night eating alone in the families kitchen. My mother looked to tired to do much, other then put forth mock courtesy.
I can pretty much trace the moment my childhood died to that moment, sitting in the kitchen staring at the families marble island. Realizing that everything wasn’t sunshine and rainbows, everyone easn’t your friend because you met them on the playground, and also, most people just sucked.
Anyway, the rest of the week I spent pretty much alone (as we weren’t invited anywhere else) trying to wrap my young brain around what I did wrong, and what I’d done to deserve such terrible treatment from strangers, and worse, my own family. This led to a severe mental breakdown, so severe that I didn’t end up going to the wedding (which my mother, in the end, was givin the wrong directions too – by the brides father) My mother had friends close by, and at some point during the week they had invited us to stay with them, instead of the hotel. I spent most of the time there in the guestroom or the on the couch crying.
The family was lovely and eventually took us to Las Vegas, in a wonderfully generous and marvelous attempt to cheer both my mother and myself up. Sadly, even the sight of gorguese wild big cats and beautiful dolphins couldn’t help me.
My childhood was over, and a slow painful emotional breakdown had started.
That trip also led me to my eventual conversion to Atheism. Half of it was probably just to spite him and his god, the other half claimed that no god would make a child feel so terribly unwanted.
I don’t think my mother ever told my uncle how hard I had taken his wedding, or any of the other times he’d treating the both of us badly. After all, she still loves him terribly, and he gets defensive and refuses to speak about anything that he may have done wrong.
Anyway, back to him coming back for my birthday, my mother has been pleading/begging/praying to see him. You see, my mother has been sick for several months, and at three times during those months, we were all scared she would die. He never flew out, he continued to call at 6AM, waking her up from her much needed rest, he left me with all of the responsibility of taking care of her. Which I was glad to do. I really was. But when you have a family, you shouldn’t have to go at these kind of things alone. Basically, he continued to be the selfish, arrogant person I had learned he was.
So, as I said, she’s been begging to see him. “I don’t have the time ma” he’d tell her. Finally he agreed to allow HER to go and visit him after Christmas. Now I’m sure his wife (who STILL won’t talk to us) heard the news and was quick to pack his bag.
He sent my mother a text message saying “I’m flying in for Brianna’s birthday. I’ll be there the 20th, leaving the 22nd”
That was it. No “what are you doing for Brianna’s birthday?” No “Can I come out? Are you busy?” No “Does she really really hate me, and will my presence destroy any chance she has at having a good time?” No nothing. Just more selfishness.
My mother danced around the house for ten minutes. I, who am a very private person, who hardly ever cries, began crying in front of our handyman, who awkwardly patted me on the shoulder and joked, “Don’t you wish you were me? You could run away”
Run away indeed.
I moaned, I groaned, I cried, and I saw how much that destroyed my mother. Because all she ever wanted was for us love each other. Lets add guilt to my list of things that are stressing me out.
Anyway, I guess I wrote all of this to help get past my feelings about him. He’s coming, and I can’t help it. He’s coming ‘for’ my birthday, but leaving at 9AM. It shows how much he knows me. I don’t wake up until at least 9:30. I’ll be civil. I’ll be nice, and for two days I’ll pretend that we’re a nice, loving little family.
I’ll hate him on the inside.
For the sake of my mother.
I’ll just wait for her to die or become delusional, before I tell him exactly how I really feel about him.
Just like a good daughter should.
<3
Dommers.
I’m sitting there, after stepping in when it was much too hot, hot enough to kill off the first two or three layers of skin but not enough to scald.
I’m sitting there, thinking how, no matter how much I scrub the damn tub, a tug that’s older then my sixteen years, It’s still going to be dirty. The walls of the shower are still not going to be fully painted, but chipping, the places that should be chalked aren’t. Another problem I can’t fix with cleaning is the fact that the tub is too small, or the fact that it will constantly drain even when you use a stopper, or the fact that I can hear much richer- I’ll-tell-you-all-about-my-designer-clothes-as-I-bitch-at-you neighbors yelling at each other through the bathroom wall.
I hate my apartment.
So I’m sitting there, thinking about everything that is currently stressing me in my life, I’m failing school, I’m behind in my Nano, My dogs are depressed, My house is dirty, my mothers thought on what she wants to do in life jump around like a flea on a hot plate, I’m still single, No, I can’t eat a pork chop without Shake and bake, that’s another thing, I’m too weak to stay a permanent vegetarian, my friends are worried I’m dying, oh and my uncle.
Yes, this blog is about to turn into a story about my uncle. Be prepared.
At this point I’d like to give you a little insight on how close I am to my uncle:
I’d like to say that if he drove off a cliff, somehow got pinned down, was still alive, and slowly withered away over the course of days from dehydration in the hot Texas sun, you wouldn’t see me crying.
It sounds cruel, but unfortunately it’s true.
I’ll be turning seventeen in ten days, and my uncle will be flying out. Why would he do that when I dislike him so much?
Wellll…. that’s another back-story.
My uncle, bless his heart, is insane.
He’s in his thirties, is a fundamentalist Christian and makes Weapons of Mass Destruction for a living.
If you can’t see what’s wrong with that sentence then you’re one of them and nothing I say from here on out will make any sense to you.
So, I’d like to say I don’t know my uncle very well; all I know about him is that he’s very good at treating people like shit and then pretending nothing happened. In fact, after many hours of therapy my therapist has found then many of my current mental and emotion issues (the whole wagon full) stemmed from the rejection I received as a child by my family. At this point I’d like to mention something, my mother is a Heroin addict,
who had issues bonding with her children. I’m sure the drug’s just destroyed those important bonding brain-neurons or whatever. But having a mother that doesn’t give a rats ass about you does leave you with a few problems. Most of which I’ve gotten over.
My grandmother has raised me since birth, so she received the title of ‘mom’. So whenever (if ever) I talk about my mom in this blog, she’s actually my grandmother.
Seeing as she is technically my grandmother, and his mother, my strained relationship with him just gets more and more complicated.
Anyway, as far as the rejection goes I’ll use the example of my uncles wedding, which was several years ago.
I was younger and naïve. Having been raised under the guise that my uncle loved me a whole bunch, and was generally a super-awesome-not-a-total-asshole- type of person.
I’ll start at the Airport, my mother and I flew to California for a week and a half so that we could be involved and help out and do all of those things your supposed to do when someone in your family is getting married.
We’d never met his wife, and I don’t know how to describe her. She’s a Californian, bleach blond, fundamentalist, who is way to good to talk to people like you, and if you look at her wrong, she’ll probably throw a tantrum and start crying. From the minute I met her I began to understand the definition of ‘passive aggressive’
From the minute we stepped off of the plane she didn’t say a word to us.
No. Seriously. My mother tried to give her a hug and she covered her chest and took a step back, glaring. She said nothing. My uncle made the excuse of her being ‘shy’. Shy my ass.
She was pretty much one of the most unwelcoming people I’d ever met, and having met her mother and father, I see where she gets it from, but still think she should have been beaten much more as a child. If not for anything but my enjoyment.
Anyway, that night we were brought to a small supermarket, to pick up a few things for the hotel with a kitchenette so we wouldn’t have to constantly eat out.
The car ride was pretty much made in silence. What with the wife being shy and all. We were later dropped off at the hotel with plans made to have dinner the next night. I realize now I forgot to add that we hadn’t seen my uncle in years. He’s always much too busy to bother with the little people in Rhode Island. What with us being lower class citizens and all.
Anyway, the next day My uncle and the wife were busy making last minute wedding plans, making favors and checking decorations and fun family things like that. Fun family things we weren’t invited to attend. We were invited to a cookout that night to ‘meet the new family’. After a fiasco with a rental car (which in the end we weren’t allowed to get because of the lack of a credit card, my mother had the cash, but the wife shook her head no, and we couldn’t use his) We were driven to the wife’s families house. After being yelled at and not allowed to change into the clothes we’d bought for the occasion, we looked like crap.
The ‘family’ it seemed, couldn’t be bothered to show up it seems, as the wife’s sisters and brothers didn’t attend. The wife’s mother and father were there, as well as one of her nieces and her nephew.
Her father, who was watching a game on TV couldn’t be bothered to stand and greet us, he is also a fundamentalist Christian and lives under the rule of “women were put on earth to serve man”. This leads me to believe he has a very small penis, and I wonder if his wife didn’t have to cheat on him to get the children she had.
He lounged about on his couch, ignoring us. My uncle introduced us to everyone (remember, the wife doesn’t talk). And then, they were celebrating the nieces birthday, coming out with a large gift and a long speech about how they could never forget about her birthday. I’d probably never ever felt so out of place. It added insult to injury that the bastard couldn’t call on my birthday. Ever.
Anyway, after the gift giving I was ordered to put on my swimsuit, which, being shy and scared out of my mind made everything seem ten times worse.
The wifes father was spending his time trying to bait her into an argument, knowing that she was a Liberal. It had been right after Ray-Charles had passed, and when my mother mentioned the shame of it, he replied with “Why? It’s one less nigger in this country”. He also mentioned, knowing that my mother had been the production manager for Willie Nelson for several years, how much joy he’d get if someone got their act together and ‘blew the redneck up’.
During all of this I was hanging around the edge of the pool, seeing as I can’t swim. The wifes niece motioned me further in, and promptly proceeded to try to drown me. I never actually admitted that to anyone until today.
By the time dinner was ready, I was crying and soaked and terrified. As ‘punishment’ by the family for being childish I was made to spend the rest of the night eating alone in the families kitchen. My mother looked to tired to do much, other then put forth mock courtesy.
I can pretty much trace the moment my childhood died to that moment, sitting in the kitchen staring at the families marble island. Realizing that everything wasn’t sunshine and rainbows, everyone easn’t your friend because you met them on the playground, and also, most people just sucked.
Anyway, the rest of the week I spent pretty much alone (as we weren’t invited anywhere else) trying to wrap my young brain around what I did wrong, and what I’d done to deserve such terrible treatment from strangers, and worse, my own family. This led to a severe mental breakdown, so severe that I didn’t end up going to the wedding (which my mother, in the end, was givin the wrong directions too – by the brides father) My mother had friends close by, and at some point during the week they had invited us to stay with them, instead of the hotel. I spent most of the time there in the guestroom or the on the couch crying.
The family was lovely and eventually took us to Las Vegas, in a wonderfully generous and marvelous attempt to cheer both my mother and myself up. Sadly, even the sight of gorguese wild big cats and beautiful dolphins couldn’t help me.
My childhood was over, and a slow painful emotional breakdown had started.
That trip also led me to my eventual conversion to Atheism. Half of it was probably just to spite him and his god, the other half claimed that no god would make a child feel so terribly unwanted.
I don’t think my mother ever told my uncle how hard I had taken his wedding, or any of the other times he’d treating the both of us badly. After all, she still loves him terribly, and he gets defensive and refuses to speak about anything that he may have done wrong.
Anyway, back to him coming back for my birthday, my mother has been pleading/begging/praying to see him. You see, my mother has been sick for several months, and at three times during those months, we were all scared she would die. He never flew out, he continued to call at 6AM, waking her up from her much needed rest, he left me with all of the responsibility of taking care of her. Which I was glad to do. I really was. But when you have a family, you shouldn’t have to go at these kind of things alone. Basically, he continued to be the selfish, arrogant person I had learned he was.
So, as I said, she’s been begging to see him. “I don’t have the time ma” he’d tell her. Finally he agreed to allow HER to go and visit him after Christmas. Now I’m sure his wife (who STILL won’t talk to us) heard the news and was quick to pack his bag.
He sent my mother a text message saying “I’m flying in for Brianna’s birthday. I’ll be there the 20th, leaving the 22nd”
That was it. No “what are you doing for Brianna’s birthday?” No “Can I come out? Are you busy?” No “Does she really really hate me, and will my presence destroy any chance she has at having a good time?” No nothing. Just more selfishness.
My mother danced around the house for ten minutes. I, who am a very private person, who hardly ever cries, began crying in front of our handyman, who awkwardly patted me on the shoulder and joked, “Don’t you wish you were me? You could run away”
Run away indeed.
I moaned, I groaned, I cried, and I saw how much that destroyed my mother. Because all she ever wanted was for us love each other. Lets add guilt to my list of things that are stressing me out.
Anyway, I guess I wrote all of this to help get past my feelings about him. He’s coming, and I can’t help it. He’s coming ‘for’ my birthday, but leaving at 9AM. It shows how much he knows me. I don’t wake up until at least 9:30. I’ll be civil. I’ll be nice, and for two days I’ll pretend that we’re a nice, loving little family.
I’ll hate him on the inside.
For the sake of my mother.
I’ll just wait for her to die or become delusional, before I tell him exactly how I really feel about him.
Just like a good daughter should.
<3
Dommers.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Sick and Tired.
I'm sick and tired of people.
I'm sick and tired of rejection.
I'm sick and tired of going out of my way for people who can't bother to give anything back.
I'm sick and tired of never feeling like I'm pretty enough, or smart enough or capable enough.
I'm sick and tired of letting my past rule me.
I'm sick and tired of telling anyone anything about me.
I'm sick and tired of being alone, no matter what.
I'm sick and tired of crying.
I'm sick and tired of the fact that no one gets Schrodinger's Cat.
I'm sick and tired of not being considered.
I'm sick and tired of trying to help you.
I'm sick and tired of not receiving the apologies I deserve.
I'm sick and tired of fake friends.
I'm sick and tired of not being able to let go.
I'm sick and tired of hearing about you.
I'm sick and tired of feeling like a failure.
I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.
I can't be sick and tired anymore, it's killing me slowly.
I'm getting over it. I'm getting over everything.
And soon,
The real me will be back.
I'm sick and tired of rejection.
I'm sick and tired of going out of my way for people who can't bother to give anything back.
I'm sick and tired of never feeling like I'm pretty enough, or smart enough or capable enough.
I'm sick and tired of letting my past rule me.
I'm sick and tired of telling anyone anything about me.
I'm sick and tired of being alone, no matter what.
I'm sick and tired of crying.
I'm sick and tired of the fact that no one gets Schrodinger's Cat.
I'm sick and tired of not being considered.
I'm sick and tired of trying to help you.
I'm sick and tired of not receiving the apologies I deserve.
I'm sick and tired of fake friends.
I'm sick and tired of not being able to let go.
I'm sick and tired of hearing about you.
I'm sick and tired of feeling like a failure.
I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.
I can't be sick and tired anymore, it's killing me slowly.
I'm getting over it. I'm getting over everything.
And soon,
The real me will be back.
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