Dear Mom,

Can you believe it's been a year? Good lord.

I'll be spending Memorial Day with Dad. Aunt Joan wants to make potato salad, but you can best bet it won't be anything like your potato salad. For the love of god, can't we make something the way you did?

I've been talking to Erika more. Oh lord, do you know what you're sister's been up to? Holy Jeebus, she's gone completely crackers. Mom, you gotta help her. Really. Before she messes up her family. Does she even know what she's doing? And I'm being serious here. I feel like going over there and confronting her with every little nasty detail I know and giving her a real slap in the face. Talk to Grandma Serwin about this, you gotta help stop this. Remember when she called you about Ron and I was very, very angry and upset? I'm even MORE angry and upset now. She really needs help...both of them do. It's both disgusting and ridiculous.

What's really, really funny is that she offered for me to turn to her when I need motherly advice. Hell, no! You are my mom, and there's no substitutions on that one. We'll just have to continue communicating the way we have been now. Not exactly a sure thing, but enough.

I keep being a jerk to John, but you know what? He's done that to me plenty of times. He knows what the laser-beam look is. Why does he continually do something to piss me off that much? And I've realized, he's a snob. Not a full out snob about everything, but some of the time he is. And you know how I feel about that. But I think the thing that gets me angry is that he's always bringing up the fact that I sometimes act like a jerk...and if I bring up his being a jerk, well, dontcha know, he's got a reason. What the hell is that? Is that what guys do? Because, and I'm sorry for saying it, I don't want to get married then. That's just too much to deal with for an entire lifetime. He can be cool, but he doesn't understand that when I get mad, I'm mad for quite a while before I cool off. You would think he would have got that point in the few years we were dating. He does things to get me mad, and well, I'm obviously going to yell at him. He just doesn't get that. Why? WHY? I do feel kinda bad for it, but still...remember? "I know my daughter, and that look means she's going to kill you." That was really funny, Mom. You called it like you saw it. But still, that didn't stop him.

I hope I'm not the one who has to go "anger management" classes. You know what I'm talking about.

Ah, I still miss you. I keep trying to remember you, and it's hard, because for a very long time all I could see was you lying there in the hospital bed, with all of the machines and tubes and such. Were you really responding to us? Or was it like when Grandma Schallack died and you were just going through your life like she did? I would like to think you could hear us, but I just don't know. I can't stop thinking about the hospital, and being there, watching you with diminishing hope, trying to prop up Dad and Ja. I knew, but they didn't. And thank you for listening to me. Even if I never do anything special, Mom, I'm still you're "Golden Child".

I was at work, forgot my ID, so I had to sign in. I figured that I would be the only one in there now. I only gave the guard my last name. "Kathie?" he asked. That startled me a moment, and then told him no. (Of course, I didn't tell him my name then.) Then he got to my name. The thing is, if it was in alphabetical order, my name would have come first. I don't get it. Oh, and the other day was talking to someone somewhere. They said I must be a Kathleen. It made me a little sad, your Kates. No wonder I feel like I've got two peronalities. You called me Kates for a while before Dad got the bright idea to give me my name when I was born. And it was all odd, given that those two moments happened within a week of each other.

Oh, and your toe was actually skin colored after the surgery. Just thought that you'd like to know.

Well, I've got shopping to do and stuff, so have I have to go. Hope to talk to you soon.

Love,
Me

ARG

Today I'm up ungodly early. My body said, "HA! Wake up NOW!!!" There's several things that I could do that I've been meaning to do but I don't feel like doing them. So instead I'll listen to the new Audioslave CD (well, I downloaded it, so not really the CD, per se). This would be the third time listening to it since last night. I'm having enough fun with my free trial at Rhapsody that I might just pay the $9.99 a month to keep it. Wow....legal downloading....me? Who'd've thunk it? OOOO...wait...there's Peter Gabriel! Too much fun. And the new Wheezer? Most of it sucks big, fat, hairy, ugly donkey balls. And as much as I have a deep, deep loathing for Green Day, I do like their new concept album, and actually am interested in seeing the movie. The music itself isn't too bad.

Tomorrow will be a full year.

Dear James.

My friend, you look to me, to judge the other half of honesty,
and here I sit, all complacent, to which I am not,
But with understanding, you realize,
the person oft forgot.

A smile that half realizes
sane and stupid compremisises
for what I look for,
and yet not,
I am who I am.

I am one person
No, I am onother,
But that is me.
Can you, dear James, understand?

I Could Go to Bed Right Now...

But I won't.

Oh, Erica, you have it right. I want Hot Sexxxy Fighting action! And there better be some!

The Booze Factor

Popcorn! How I love thee!

Sadly, my body's like, "So you have a diet of booze, I don't care!". Actually, my body has been craving booze more than actual food. I could live off of beer and still be functional. Really. It's odd....I go out, have beers, then get home, have tequila, then eat PB, and my body doesn't care. And I don't wake up hungover, like I have been for weeks. Now, I wake up, and dammit, it wants the tequila. If I were to go ahead and do that, my body would not mind. Seriously. I could live through the whole week, a sip (and really that, a sip) of tequila a day. I've thought about it, so I guess that makes me an alcoholic, that I would replace actual nutrition with booze. THAT I COULD LIVE OFF OF BOOZE. And it's been so tempting to me right now. To live off of booze. Who the hell at work is going to oppose me? No one, really. I'm genious at my job, oh, wait, and at OTHER people's jobs too. And with tequila, I can cope. I can be the alcoholic that I know rests inside. And I know I won't loose the pittance that they call my pay.

I have a college degree, and they don't acknowlege that. But it's the same for everyone. It doesn't matter how much schooling you've had, can you come in on time? They are loosing the best and brightest to other jobs, which are higher paying, than looking and developing a person's potential. Because I'm a "clerk", I can't break into underwriting. Because "I don't know enough". Excuse me? I have a college education in diplomacy...and I've heard the underwriters. You don't say, "no". You say, "let me look into this, and I'll let you know in 24-48 hours what the decision will be." My whole major is about diplomacy. WTF? And I have to be a CSR or a UT before I can be an underwriter? Um, Hello, International Relations? As in, "Well that's good that you lost a lot of weight under your diet, but I still have to look at the guidlines" kind of thing? Uh, I majored in diplomcy. A graduate, in fact. But I still have to maintain a monkey postition to get anything? Yeah, and management learned from the Zoo. I'm not stupid, but there aren't enough jobs for me. Gonna take advantage of that? Oh, hell, then I'm looking around for something else. HA!

Okay...

for the people who want to take the "How republican am I?" test, I have a link to a site at http://www.pandagon.net/archives/2005/04/why_yes_that_is.html#more Pandagon for you. They're worth checking out on a regular basis, actually. Hopefully, it works.

The Year

No one knows. The Year.

I'll be at her funeral. Really, I will. And all I will do is touch your arm. "Next year," I'll tell you, because I know, "I'll still be here for you."

You won't know it then. Too confused and saddened. But a year after, a bit different. What all of you do for me now, you don't really know what you're doing. Oh, but you will know. You will know the pain and the suffering. After that first year. Parents go before children. If you want the recipe, do it now. Not Later. You don't have later...I thought I did. I didn't. And in the broad stroke of an artist painting a watercolor, she was gone. Art is life, it's all around, and I can't explain it. It just is.

I just want want one time where I can talk about her, without the interruptions, and about her funny stories. And if "He's" out there, I know what loss is.....

Reminders

You are like my friend Carla. You are like Leigh. You are like all of my friends. Well, at least most of them.

I asked John if he considered himself a feminist. He said yes. He is not. I cannot interrupt him, yet he feels he can interrupt me. I may make snide comments, but it's bad, and I'm being a bitch for doing so. When he does it, it's okay. He can interrupt my thoughts, and I can't interurrpt his. I must pay attention to him. I gave a scathing anyalsis of his family, and I was wrong and/or horrible and wrong for doing so, but it's okay to do that to my family. That's like sooooo Brendan or something. Oh, but he can't live with that once a month PMS. He put up with it for 2 years....why now? Something odd happened to him...how else to explain the awkwardness? He dosn't understand how odd he is...and it has nothing to do with the intelligence.

It's just him.

There are a certain set of people out there, in the world, who can't think beyond themselves. Actually, that's most of the people. They really and honestly can't think about things other than themselves. They can't think in terms of how/what other people can feel. And that's about 96% of the world. They can't even imagine that other people have feelings vastly different than their own. They are locked in their world. And that's him. Really, it is. He portrays himself as Not Normal, and he's entirely normal. That's what makes me mad. And he won't admit, even though he's in the top 5% of intelligence, he's so NOT in the top 5% for emotional intelligence. I have way more knowledge of people than he does. I'm not smart in the way he is, but he wants to guadge it that way, so that he actually appears smarter than he really is. Even though that's not what he claims to do, it is what he does. But he doesn't like it if you point that out to him. If I was a man, and said something, he'd remember it. But because I'm not, it's not worth noting.

What makes me bitter is that I can forgive hin for kicking me in the leg. Not forgotten, but forgiven. And a single bitter episode of PMS makes him not want to be with me?

Asshole. Major Asshole, First Gunner.

Arg.

Wow! Don't you know...

It's easier to think about a diet that has you eat six times a day than about the mother who died almost a year ago, who sits in a crystal urn on the mantelpiece so that she can see the TV. Is that what it is? I really think so. Until the note from my aunt, I thought it was because I wanted to be healthy. Not die. Not die of heart problems. For the love of God, I think too much. Raise the pineapple rum in salute. Gone. Away.

I lost 20-25 pounds just on my own, with a few simple changes to my diet. Granted, it took 6-8 months, but that's what happened. And I had butter. And salt. The thing is, I may cook with a bit of butter, but practially no salt whatsoever. And water? I drink a lot of that. So why am I so gung-ho with the diet this week? My mom...mother's day...which leads to...her birthday...which...oh, dear god, the 27th, died then? This year she would've been 61, one year closer to retirement. Lord, I'm not holding up well. But mother's day was interwoven with her birthday, and that, in and of itself, is intertwined with her death. All in ONE FUCKING MONTH. She died as Grandma Serwin died, but there's still a hole in my life. Oh, Mom, I wanted you to be here, to see me move out, and even to make my own meals. Mom, I wish you were here, bringing me stuff, making sure I had enough. God, I miss you. Really, I do. You'd have me over for Sunday dinner, no getting out of it, and of course, we'd watch the food network. I love you. Always have. If I didn't, I wouldn't have told you what I did. Given what I knew, why do I still feel this way. Oh, Lord, it hurts in ways unimaginable.

I want it to stop. But I can't help but feel it.

I am: -20% Republican.

"The Marxists are too reactionary for you. With people like you around, America collectively thanks God for John Ashcroft."

Are You A Republican?

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