Potato Salad for the Soul

I'm happy to report that I've gotten out of bed. I look like a hot mess, but I'm feeling a little better. I really didn't like feeling as though I was falling apart, but I needed to process a lot of pent up emotion before I exploded. So I exploded.

I hate crying. It makes me feel stupid. But... sometimes we just have to let it out. And I'm grateful that I did, grateful for my good friends who listened to my pathetic babbling, and thank God I work with wonderful, understanding people. The reality of life is that sometimes it's hard. And lately, I've just had too much coming at me at once, and didn't have, nor make, the time to work it out. I was barely hanging on... and then I found out a dear man I knew succombed to cancer. He was supposed to have 3-6 months; but he only made it two weeks. Sadly, because I was wrapped up in my own shit and don't get the paper... I missed his funeral. And of course, I'm sad that he died. Just as I fear my Chester is dying. His death reminded me how fragile my Chester is.


So after hours of tears, countless naps, and thoughts good and bad... I got up off my ass and started therapy. Cooking therapy. I busied my mind with the tedious dicing of celery, bacon, onions, eggs, and potatos. A little potato salad for the soul, if you will. I've exchanged the mess of feelings in my mind for a mess in the kitchen... and I'm okay with both of them. I'm okay. Sometimes things stress us out. Sometimes things hurt. Sometimes people that have been kind to you do things that are unkind. I really don't understand why, and just like the silence that surrounded the existence of my father hurt me... this silence hurts too. But it won't hurt forever. Thank you for being there... you know who you are.

Got My Mind On My Money And My Money On My Mind

I've got my mind on my money, and my money on my mind! Trying to find any and all ways to make sure I can keep my house and my shorts! Thankfully, I'm one of those weird people who almost welcomes pressure... as I seem to work best in "Oh Shit!" mode; so I have somewhat welcomed the challenge.

My Ebay sales are going pretty well. I managed to finally unload my over-priced and under-used scientific calculator I was forced into buying for a statistics class in college! A big score at $25.00 in sales. Another item landed a mere 99 cents... but that pays better than dust, so I'll take it!

My ceramics production is at an all time high, and at this pace, I may very well have twenty pieces completed by the end of the workshop. I've been working with a new design that has gotten many "oohs" and "ahs" from the other artists in the workshop... so I am gambling on the fact that someone would buy them! There is a gift shop upstairs, and a few community art events coming up in Spring... so there is hope to at least recoup the cost of my class, and perhaps even generate a little profit.

There is hope on the horizon for employment! I have a job interview tomorrow afternoon. It is for a business that is in the building phase, so official employment wouldn't likely begin until May or later. Not ideal for someone who desperately needs a steady income, but, the job, if I got it, would be dependable, and recession-proof. I'm a little nervous about it, do to the fact that I know at least 12,000 people have applied for the jobs at this place. That means I really, really, really have to impress! I would kill to have enough money to buy a new suit for the interview, but that's just not going to happen. So I picked through my closet, and tried on every pair of dress pants I own to find the ones that fit the best. I'm still not sold on the top I selected. I'd prefer to wear a button down one, but those weren't looking great to me, so I believe I may go for a classic fit purple sweater. I can already see myself flinging clothes all about the room in a panic... tripping on hangers, sweat beading on my forehead... and probably uttering a swear word or two, moments before I have to leave.

In the morning, I'm going to my friend's grandmother's funeral. Not on the top of the fun-things-to-do list, but, something I feel I should do. He has been a great friend, and very supportive through my own hard times... being there for him during his own difficult time is just the right, and "grown up" thing to do. We have been friends for two years now, but have never been overly serious. We usually spend time speaking absolute jibberish while we flip through books, sipping coffee at Barnes and Noble. Laughing at our own intentional stupidity is our usual M.O. Sharing such an emotional time with him will add a new dynamic to our friendship. I am not sure that he will cry, but I have never seen him do so. I'm a kind of emotional girl, so if he cries... odds are I will to. And that's okay. I'll just have to be sure and regroup before I head off to my interview in the afternoon.

And with that... I'm off to bed. I've got an early, and long day ahead of me...

What the Bloody Hell is Wrong With People?

Never in my life have I deemed the extra 15% discount or free pair of socks worth the uncontrolled cart-ramming chaos of shopping on "Black Friday." It's fucking insane! PEOPLE are insane. There just isn't much else that needs to be said.

Please refer to the following articles for concrete evidence supporting my statement:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/29/business/29walmart.html?

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/11/28/socal-toys-r-us-shooting_n_147032.html

What the bloody hell is wrong with people? Jesus, if that's what people will do to get a deal on a damn HD t.v., we are all in big trouble when this looming depression really hits! We will need body armor and Uzis just to survive the government cheese line...

Who takes loaded guns to a toy store?

How much did the poor Wal-Mart guy get paid an hour? And did no one notice a body under their feet?

Beyond tragic... inexcusable, unexplainable, senseless, idiotic, disgusting...

I See Dead People

Nobody likes death. Well, maybe the guys who like zodiac signs, poison Kool-aid, and duct tape do, but I find the permanence of it to be quite disturbing. I'm overly sensitive, and have a hard time with the letting-go required when a person passes away. That's probably why I still have two dead people in my cell phone. Hitting delete just doesn't seem fair.

Fair. Yes, I know, life isn't fair... so how could death possibly be?

I was reading the paper tonight, and saw yet another person I know in the obituaries. That's three in four weeks! I demand a slow-down! Cut-backs in the number calling. Funeral Parlor closings due to lack of business. I say no more death! Not only is it sad, it's expensive. People are strapped and struggling, can't ya cut 'em a break, Big Guy?

My Sweet Martha

I got three emails this afternoon from my dear friend Martha's email address, only the title read, "Mother's Arrangements." I was busy doing other things... and then realized that Martha was in her 80's and her mother was unlikely to be alive. So I opened the email...

It was from Martha's daughter. Martha has passed. Frozen with shock, and sickened with regret... I wrote Julie back.

Martha and I "met" in a rather unconventional but lovely way. Martha's brother Don had been one of my regular bar customers at Outback. A kind, sweet soul, who spoke to me with the love and encouragement of a grandfather. And since my grandfathers were not nearby... I "adopted" Don as one. Don didn't drink. He came to the bar to talk with me. To visit and share his day. And it tickled me to see older ladies hitting on him... he still "had it!" I remember him showing me a beautiful ring he bought for his daughter and asking if I thought she'd like it.

Don lived with vigor. He and his fellow elderly bachelors gathered every summer in Florida for ladies and mischief. He had asked me incessantly to drive him that year. I had classes to attend, and working to do. I couldn't. Don hadn't returned for our usual cheerful conversations... so I began searching his name on the Internet. Don had died. Hopefully happy, perhaps even in the arms of a woman he had charmed. I didn't get to tell him how much he meant to me.

So I posted a letter expressing my love and adoration for Don on his memorial page through the funeral home. Martha read it and wrote back to me.

Martha and I were pen pals for the last 7 years. We shared the bond of love for her brother, Don. We shared life stories and laughter... through letters, cards and emails. She had stopped by Outback once, when she visited Don's grave, but I wasn't yet at work. So Martha and I never met in person. But, I loved her just the same.

My sweet Martha. What a lovely soul. What a generous spirit. I'll miss you, dear, and hope you passed peacefully... knowing that you touched my life, and hoping that I touched yours.

The Empty Chair...

I have sat here... in this same... old... hard... cold...

uncomforting, uncomfortable chair... for twelve hours. Half a day. A lifetime. Lifetime of feelings. Conversations. Words. Said. And unspoken...

And

I

Am...

Mourning. Frustrated. Sad. Hopeful. Desperate. Needy. Full. Empty...

All at once. And...

All

Alone.

In this empty chair...

Just One More...

There's a guy that has been "missing" for almost two months. And there is a body that has been found. I didn't really know the guy, but my friends did... and I do know that at least part of him was hurting inside. And odds are that he is now, in fact, dead. And a victim of "foul play." Although I didn't know him... this is stirring up emotions inside me.

I had a friend named Pam. I met her when I used to travel to Fort Wayne to work. Pam and I quickly became friends... but we never really knew what bonded us together so tightly. I was secretly in my own hell. Hated my job. Hated that I had "sold out" for money, but trying to justify it because it was allowing me to break the chains of debt. I had no time for me. Family. Friends. No time to breathe. And I met Pam.

Pam and I hung out a lot after work. Even though I wasn't supposed to "fraternize" with the "help." Pam was a beautiful person. Very spirited. Strong. Hilarious. And sad. She wouldn't tell me she was sad. But just one look at her swallow an entire bottle of beer in one gulp... told me so. And there I was, in my own hell, my own sadness... unable to violate the comfortable laughter... and ask her what was truly hurting her. To confront her. To beg her to be kind to herself. To know that she was loved.

And Pam died.

Pam was alone. In another country. Studying to become a doctor just to please her beloved stepfather. Hiding her painful secrets and the pain of those secrets from the family she so adored, and that hopefully adored her too. I had been thinking of how I should have called her the very day that she died. I had wondered why she hadn't responded to the email I had sent that eerily said, "Please at least let me know you are alive."

So I never got to tell Pam that I loved her. For her. Despite her internal struggles... despite her drunken foolishness. Despite her pissing her own pants as a grown woman. That I loved her sarcasm. Her obnoxious laugh. Her freckles. How much she loved her stepfather... and how desperately she yearned to make him proud. I never got to tell Pam it was going to be okay. Never got to tell her that she could cry on my shoulder. Even punch me in the face, if it would keep her going for just one more day. I never got to tell Pam that life, no matter how painful it can be, is worth living.

I didn't even get to go to Pam's funeral. I didn't know her parents. Didn't know who to get in touch with regarding the funeral. I never got to say "Goodbye" to her... and I never wanted to.

And her number is still in my cell phone. I can't delete it. I know that no matter how desperately I wish that she would answer if I call... she can't. But I can't let go of that one little bit I have left of her. Sometimes, I hear her laughter. And it makes me smile.

I wonder how she felt the day she died. If she meant to die, or if it was merely an accidental overdose of self-medication self-prescribed for her lonely angst. And I remember being in my garage, painting doors for my house. Being irritated about how tedious it was... and then realizing that Pam died at 26. She never got to buy a house and get pissed about painting doors. She never got a chance to have kids, to get married... maybe even to "simply" feel loved. And I still... a year later... feel such a sorrow for her loss. A longing for her to have just one more chance. The ability to at least hug her... and tell her that although I couldn't save her... she, in a way, saved me.

R.I.P.

In celebration of my madness, and to honor my word, I went out at sunset to have a mini funeral for Mr. Groundhog. His poor body had been laying there all day. It was inside the neighbor's fence, so I couldn't retrieve his body to give him a proper burial.

I took a candle out... and went to his final resting place. To my astonishment, his body was gone. I said the Lord's Prayer... and one of the rabbits had chosen to attend. I blew out the candle and headed back indoors when I spotted my mother's cat that had been missing for three days. It struck me as odd that he turned up right then. I scooped him up and took him to my mother's house. We were glad to know that he hadn't suffered the same fate as Mr. Groundhog!

R.I.P. Mr. G.!

Groundhog Day

May we have a moment of silence, in honor of my little groundhog buddy who lost a courageous battle with a big brown dog in the fenced in yard next door.

Mr. Groundhog went to be with the Lord at approximately 9:15 p.m, Saturday, August 23 after a tragic case of being in the wrong place and the wrong time.

Mr. Groundhog thoroughly enjoyed the outdoors. He had a lengthy and successful career as a burrower and gatherer. Mr. Groundhog spent his winters relaxing under a shed. Mr. Groundhog was an avid climber, which unfortunately, let to his untimely death. It is unclear at this time if Mr. Groundhog has left any loved ones behind, but it is very clear that his clumsy climbing and bumbling through the grass will be missed by his dear friend Mona Lake.

In lieu of flowers, Mr. Groundhog's friends request that you send donations to the NAGS foundation (Neighbors Against Groundhog Slaughter). Services will be held at sunset, Sunday, August 24th.