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October 1, 2000

Happy first day of the month! I woke up today with the sun shining and a smile on my face. If this was a musical production, that was the moment I would have broke into song.

The floor repair job Saturday went well, even though I got hung up in road construction traffic coming and going. It was absolutely wonderful to spend time with my friends! < Proof that I need to get out more, no? >

Anyway... about the floor job, the area cut out in the floor that had to be replaced was relatively small. Most of the damage there was due to old hot water heat < as in a leaky radiator since long gone >. The spot was about 2x3 feet. Nothing major. EXCEPT for the fact that after the chunk was cut out, it happened to be 5/8" thick. AND we had a 3/4" thick piece to replace it. DAMN! I didn't drag the planer along...... so, the complications set in where thickness was concerned. OK... and here's where I cut to the chase and tell you that after the proper piece of plywood was obtained, the job was easy.

Yesterday I got together with my friend about the contract work. I now have a ton of things to accomplish within two weeks. YES! I have two weeks to draft about 30 pages of drawings on top of everything else I am doing. Can I pull this off? Hmmmmm... we shall see what we shall see. I'm gonna try my best.

Better yet... I have ANOTHER vacation planned!!! My friend and I were yakking up a storm before we got down to talking about work AND.... OHMYGOD!!!! I can't believe it but we now have plans to jaunt off to Paris in the spring of 2002! I am incredibly excited about it already.... ;^)... and, I can't help but to smile about it!

October 3, 2000

In the news:Napster is online again dishing up MP3's while the court battle rages on. Will it be a goner? Bush and Gore have the first debate tonight. Will it be a yawner? As usual... time will tell the tale. Meanwhile, Eddie wins half-a mil from Big Brother while Survivor went into immediate re-runs. Madonna tops the charts with another hit single - Music. John Lennon's killer gets a NO from the parole board. A study suggests that smoking can be the cause of depression in teens. New home sales slip. The stock market is heading up as Xerox sinks......

...wellllllllll then... that's enough of the newsreel for me. It certainly is.

So, how about some NEWS from my head: Today I was contemplating a gypsy like existence... daydreaming about selling everything and hitting the road in search of adventure. Sometimes I get tired of being a responsible adult. Yet, I wonder if I could feel comfortable with such displacement. Hmmmmmmmmm... I wonder. I mean, what gives you security in your life? Is it your STUFF? I don't think so... and I'm not certain that I've ever known complete security EVER. I might have had moments where I thought I did... in passing anyway. STUFF is easier to get than the real things I need in this life. Most of which are not things you can either see or touch... but, what is it that I need? Why do I feel like my life has been a giant search for something unknown to me? What does all of this mean? AND why am I thinking any of this? Why now? Why me?

Wellllllllllll... hell if I know. Tomorrow it'll probably be something else. It always is. Trust me on that. But... I doubt it'll involve thoughts of becoming a nun or anything like it < sorry God...>.

Sista news: I talked and laughed with her on the phone today. She would be a willing adventurer, too... except that she has kids in school. Still.... she agreed that maybe we both need to take some risks and have some senseless fun. I mean, things always change and we have dealt with so many changes that we didn't choose over the past few years - it would be cool if we had the guts to say "screw this" and do something completely crazy. BUT we have that frickin' sense of responsibility genetic component. You know, the DNA strand that says, "...what the hell is wrong with you... are you NUTS?" and/or "...don't do anything stupid, drastic or impulsive."

Oh well... I guess it keeps us grounded. Hmmmmmmmm... but isn't THAT a little confining at times?

I need to stop this habit of thinking too much and driving myself nuts. Any suggestions? Any ideas for untethering this think tank?

MYGOD! Isn't it evident I need this vacation coming up???!!

Obviously I need to get away, not run away...

Hey I woke up and look... here it is... another day. I’m heading off in the dark to the office...

What’s going on at home:
Yes, Cass and I are still living together. We both know it’s a matter of time until she gets another job and moves on to an independent way of living. That was the initial idea when she moved here in the spring. We thought it was a temporary situation then, because neither of us felt ready to live together. We decided to do it because my house was closer to her new job and it cut more than an hour off from her daily commute.

When she moved in, things quickly fell into place. She’s actually very easy to live with and we get along very well. But the fact is, she has never lived on her own and being here with me isn’t going to help her to become independent. Both of us recognize that. It is a bittersweet truth regardless of how we feel about each other.

Knowing what is necessary doesn’t automatically make it easier. Knowing it’s best in the long run doesn’t eliminate the pain associated with it. Letting go is hard. Letting go of someone you love is even harder.

I really do think that we are quite lucky that we can see the value of our paths crossing. We’ve both learned so much from each other. In talking last night we realized that we’ve gained far more in a relatively short time than if we hadn’t met at all < and, more than what some people may learn after many, many years > . We both feel fortunate to have had this experience and intend to remain in each others lives no matter what the future brings or, where it takes either of us. I thank God for that. I thank God for bringing her into my life.

Granted, our relationship has changed but we aren’t saying goodbye. We are saying hello to a new relationship, and a very important and meaningful one at that. It’ll be hard for both of us when the day comes that she moves. I know that. She knows that.

Meanwhile, we are making the best of the situation. We are still going on vacation together. We like being around each other so I have no doubt that we’ll have a great time. While some people might think this situation is peculiar... it seems altogether natural to us because we were friends first. Because of that, I know our friendship will last.

Besides... it’s a lot better than bitching/fighting/screaming/carrying on some big emotionally draining drama scenario that ends up with nothing but emptiness and heartache like some nasty aftertaste.
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Rather than loving and losing... .
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. ...we’ve loved and won.
 
 

October 5, 2000

Thanks to an e-buddy < you know who you are > for pointing out this guestbook entry:

==================================================================
Date:10/04/00 15:31:10
Name: your secret admirer
E-mail: cantsay@this.time

Comments: now that you broke up with youre girlfriend i wannt to know when i can take you out on a date
==================================================================

Hmmmmm...for starters... just exactly WHERE is it that you want to take me? I can't possibly consider answering the question unless I know what clothes to wear and how to fix my hair. And, then there's already a potential conflict of interest here since you want to know WHEN and I want to know WHERE. This could easily lead to our first fight. Not a good sign. But, wait... OK... on second thought... I am getting hungry... so < insert your name here > do you think you could pick me up at 7 tonight?

Fall is beginning to show its wonder in splotches of colors that admit a stunning contrast of intensity along the horizon.  A transient beauty, yet one that renders me awestruck to witness. For this, I value my sight. The shuffling, slipping and random crunching of leaves beneath my feet are singing harmony with the snapping of twigs which reminds me of the sound of a fire starting. For this, I value my hearing. The scent of wet leaves wraps around the smell of the air and the earth after a steady rain. For this, I value my sense of smell.

And, for the ability to assimilate this information today, I value my thoughts and my feelings...

...yep. Thoughts and feelings. Something which I have intermittently cursed and fought with what seems like forever... often wishing life was simpler and that I was simpler.  But, today I don't think those versions of simple even count. The leaves have taken precedence. If those leaves even 
had a simple thought, it would be "look at me."  I doubt that they would be fretting in the least. They have served their purpose and go out blazing onward to enrich the soil. They degrade themselves and become valuable again - all without shame to glorify the earth.

I love leaves. The yard and the garden love them, too. I don't rake and bag and send my leaves off for garbage pickup in bags and boxes like city people do. Around here they get very special treatment. They are mulched, composted and raked into the flowerbeds. They are used to amend the garden soil in the spring and to mulch growing vegetables.

Around here, leaves are a resource.

If you are one of those people who bags and boxes your leaves to send them away, at the very least....
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... please consider raking them up and jumping into the pile to say goodbye.

October 9, 2000

Life. Here it is staring me in the face again. I'm not quite sure what to make of it. Or, what to make of myself. Today is not a good day for me.

Last evening I made a bad choice. Today I am paying the price. So, what did I do this time? Well... I drank waaaaaaaay too much. So... today as my head pounds like a jackhammer... I am beating myself up over it.

This is the hardest entry I have ever written about myself, but I need to do it. It's a huge wake up call to consciousness.

When I was growing up the picture looked something like this:
My Father's parents were alcoholics. They would begin drinking about noon and would drink all day long. I don't ever remember them coming over to our house without having alcohol with them. At their house, they always seemed to have an unlimited supply. In fact, I don't remember a single day when I didn't see my Father's parents drinking. Quite frankly, I hated it. And, as a child who witnessed this, I vowed to myself I would never drink.

My Mother never drank and, now, will have a drink only on rare occasions. My Father was a binge drinker and a prescription drug addict - narcotic painkillers and alcohol do not mix. I hated him when he drank. I remember at least several incidents where Mom would pile all of us kids in the car and we would leave because Dad was on some drinking binge which led to a disruptive rampage. Drinking held no glamour for me. I remember hiding in a closet. I remember how scared I felt then. I remember feeling my entire body tremble. Today, I am remembering things I'd hoped I'd forget.

I remember running away from my Father because he was chasing me with a gun. I remember diving into a ditch when I heard a shot fired. I remember being beat with his belt and punched with his fists. I remember the taste of blood. I remember how much I hated him. I remember the confusion. I remember trying to protect my siblings. I remember him throwing me over the side of the boat into the water to "teach me how to swim." I remember the complete panic I felt. I remember telling him if he ever hit my Mother I would kill him... something that, oddly enough, he never did even though he severely abused his children.

I cannot credit or attribute drinking to every abusive incident associated with my Dad, but, the times I can associate with it didn't make drinking look good at all. There were plenty of times that he was abusive while sober. He had plenty of problems emotionally. Dad was an abused child who went on to abuse his children. I don't see that as an excuse or even a reason... it's only a fact. A fact that helped me to put my childhood into perspective and make some peace with my Father years before he decided to put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.

My Father's suicide triggered memories that I thought were long buried. In order to protect myself I separated that child. What I mean is that I know it all happened but, somehow, it feels like it happened to someone else and I only witnessed it. As a child I learned early on that I had to be a survivor in order to endure my reality. I could never get angry then. I could not talk about it and I learned to hide it within myself. While it's still very difficult for me to allow myself to be angry, but... at least I have come to the point where I can talk about my feelings.

I was fortunate to have had a wonderful, gentle Mother. Except that Mom wasn't aware of all the abuse and I had learned early on that part of the survival tactic was not to run crying to her because it would be far worse for me the next time. So, I hid it from her and enabled him. Most of what occurred happened when Mom was working. There was a point in my life that I believed my Dad would eventually kill me.

Mom knows everything now. Since Dad died we have had plenty of long talks. The discussions we've had left me feeling relieved in a sense to finally get it all out, but, the overwhelming feeling I have had was one of pain. Pain for her. The shock and hurt written all over her face was difficult to see. The blame she felt for not knowing and for not leaving him made her feel like she wasn't a good Mother - something I don't believe is true at all. Sometimes, I wish she never had to know. Sometimes I wish we had never talked about it. I went to great lengths to protect her from it while sacrificing a part of myself. Even today, it seems I have a tremendous amount of compassion for others without an equal measure for myself. I really don't know why but I am sure it has something to do with my childhood.

You might wonder why I am spewing all of this stuff out here. Well... part of it is because this is the one place that I can rant and carry on anyway I choose. It's a relatively safe place, but - I can't honestly say that I won't feel uncomfortable about reading this on a different day. I'm sure I will, but - it is the truth. I suppose that I had to put these things here to put everything into perspective again. It might help so that you can understand where I am coming from. I didn't write this because I feel sorry for myself or because I want you to feel sorry for me. Don't. Please don't.

Shortly after my Dad died I experienced a similar incident and here it is again... like some horrible deja-vu. I had to write about it so I will never forget.

I wrote this because today I am feeling scared. And I am feeling scared because I made a bad choice in drinking waaaaaaay too much last night. Why am I scared? OK... because last night, alone in my drunken stupor, what I can remember is that I felt like if I had a handgun I might have killed myself.

I will not be drinking like that ever again. This legacy of pain will not be passed on by me.That in itself is a very sobering thought.

Drinking like that is a depressive distortion of who I truly am... it goes against everything I believe in and everything I want for my life. I have survived an abusive past, there is no need to abuse myself further by playing with an emotionally destructive fire. While today I may not feel like a very good person... I know that last evening I became a mere shell of myself. Something which feels inherently evil and ugly to the core.

And... this is the point from which I move along... after deeply offending my spirit. .
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postscript - - - - - - - - - - - - - - same day

The feeling of being out of control via drinking reminded me of my Father. It brought me a little too close to his demons and that made me feel very, very uncomfortable. It is the last thing I want to be or see in myself. I don't like feeling out of control at all.

Moderation is Control. Moderation is responsible behavior.

When Cass got home from work, we talked about it. She thinks that I am fortunate to recognize it because once you see something then you have the option change. She reminded me that I am human and that for one night of irresponsible behavior, I shouldn't be beating the hell out of myself like I am. However, I am still pissed off at myself. AND, Cass says that I have to break the cycle of punishing myself because that is something I do with far greater frequency than excessive drinking. She has a point there. She has a very good point there.
 

OK. It’s a new day. I’m feeling slightly better. How could I have felt worse?

...apparently, I needed to repeat the same lesson twice to get the message. Of course, it's no real surprise to me to learn the hard way, as that often seems to be the norm. Drastic events have a way of getting my attention. This was one of them. I don't deny that.

The last time the mad handyma'am was drunk was in the summer of ‘97. My Dad's suicide was about 5 or 6 months old. I stayed up wandering around outside into the hours of the next day dealing with the onslaught of anger and grief. It was the closest had I ever felt to be standing on the edge. It was a defining low point to find my own grief, anger and thoughts of suicide in the dark.

So, 3 years and approximately 3 months later... I go there again. Guess I didn't learn the first time around. Guess I tucked it neatly away. Guess I can't ignore it now. If I chose that path, it is clearly the way of destruction.

I want to have a constructive life as well as a meaningful existence. Because of that, I have to choose to live consciously. To heighten my senses and use them in a way that is beneficial not only to myself, but to the people around me.

As having been a victim of circumstances, I do not want is to be a victim of myself. That choice is empowering and responsible.

I won’t be getting drunk like that ever again. It scared the hell out of me to realize that through drinking like that I could feel ANY thought of suicide no matter how fleeting. Since my Dad’s suicide, I’ve only felt like that twice. Never when I was sober. Never when I drank in moderation. Only when I was drunk.

OK. I’ve learned the lesson. Soooooooooo.... now what’s next?

October 12, 2000

Blah.

Here I am. I had the most wonderful upbeat day yesterday where EVERYTHING seemed to go right... but... today was hectic. Yesterday seems like a dream. Today, everything you could plug into an electrical outlet was uncooperative. Not to mention that people were cranked up about one thing or another. So.... here I was smirking in the basement office and not feeling the least bit segregated.... yet, I felt my annoyance level escalate as the machines I work with proceeded to completely fuck with me < sorry the occasional sensitive reader - but there's NOT another word that sufficiently describes it >. If the machines  would have been people... by the end of the day I would have felt like they didn't like me at all. If that were true, I might not be back in the morning. Screw this shit.

Now, I'm home. After stopping at the gas station, the bank and the store down the road. I change my shoes and pick up the envelopes I labeled earlier and head back out the door. Cass is making pizza and I'm gathering wildflower seeds in the envelopes to plant next year. There will be more to gather in the coming weeks, if I make the effort or even remember. Which, of course, I hope I do. But... maybe not. After all, I harbor the contents of 15 or so lists in my head. Sometimes I forget to mentally highlight certain items and cross others out.  It's a mess in there. I'll add it to the list of things to clean.

I'm still working on contract work for the upcoming Sunday deadline. Looks like I'll pull it off. Working under pressure seems to be the standard. I've progressed to the point where I actually don't mind it.

There's something sick about that dontcha think?     ;^)

Next week is vacation week!The countdown to the 19th is on... I feel the need to get away. Yep I do. Even though I have what seems like an endless amount to do around here... right now it's so much more important to hang out with my brother and the family. These things can wait.

Oh... and then there's that pre-vacation thing going on with both Cass and I. You know... money, packing clothes, confirming the car rental, figuring what all to haul out there and the general taking care of business before you leave stuff...welllllllllll... it's not like you don't know .
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  that is a stressy thing.
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. The only thing missing is PMS. Thank God for the smallest of mercies.
 
 
 

=== a little later ===

The day comes to a close with significant improvements and I am left feeling most marvelous. Relaxed even. The key: a hot-hot-hot bubble bath... where I languished for slightly over an hour. Any residual stress I had went down the drain... ahhhhhhhhhhh... life is damn good again. Again, I thank God for further small mercies like hot water and bubbles... even as I type with wet hair.

October 13, 2000

It's Friday the 13th...
wellllllllllll...big frickin' damn deal < you might guess - I'm NOT superstitious >

Today literally blazed by...

...sheesh... < deep breath >...after 10 hours at the office I'll be going home to put in at least another 4 hours in on my contract drafting project. Some Friday night, eh? At least some of you might sleep better knowing the disco ball and the strobe light won't be going tonight. And gee... think of the energy I'm saving there. Woooohooooooo!

So what. It's Friday night and I'm working < shut up >.

Oh, well... it's alright. I mean, I have to tell myself that because that's what I'm doing. Don't I? If I thought about it for any length of time I'd say that I'd rather be doing something else ...but, I have this obligation followed by a vacation. It's that damn responsibility thing again. I'd rather not whine about it, or adopt full blown "poor me"syndrome .
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< even though part of me wants to just because >.
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BUT... I am afraid I am not allowed. I've already reached the whining quota for the month, and -  the kicking-my-own-ass allotment.
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< end of torturous thoughts >
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. Now back to where I was headed...
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Surprise, surprise. Things at the office went fairly well today. The computers were running smoothly, nobody screamed for help and I didn't spend one extra iota of time looking for anything. I started the day by going out to breakfast with the boss. Shortly after that, the secretary and I took a road trip to buy office supplies, which included a new scanner for me. Of course, my performance is peaking now. Honestly, I am having waaaaaaaaaaaay too much fun in my isolated office. So much fun that I find myself going upstairs several times a day to say,

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OK then....watch me run!

There's much to do before embarking on vacation. Probably too much - as usual. In fact, I'm already thinking about everything I need to do when I return. Don't accuse me of getting ahead of myself - I know. It's a bad habit I can't figure out how to break.

The truth is that today I'm falling behind because I'm not feeling up to par. I have developed a damn cold. Great timing, huh?

Let's interrupt this for a brand spanking new
Sista update:
Sista got a part time job working at a day care facility. A job where she can take her kids with her if need be. Perfect for her and not too far from her house.

So... she's not even working there for two full weeks when an unexpected event occurs. A male parent of a child there went to her superiors and told them that my Sista had been implicated in her ex-husband's death... AND... that the day care facility Sista had licensed in her home was shut down by the authorities due to her physically abusing children.

Of course, the facility has to protect itself, so they contact the licensing authorities to verify the story. When Sista went into work she was called into the office and questioned. She subsequently had to reveal much more information about her personal life than she felt comfortable with. The first thing I wondered was why in the hell they wouldn't have checked out a person before hiring them... like, didn't they run a check on her before hiring her? I would think that the last you'd want in a day care facility would be for someone with a criminal history to slip in between the cracks.

The guy who told her employer this stuff is not unknown to my sister. In fact, she recognized his little girl. The man with the mouth was her ex-husband's schoolmate and is known for being a few bricks short. Despite that, he does have sole custody of his daughter, so I would imagine that at one point, the court declared him competent enough for that. Maybe he doesn't realize that in this act of slanderous stupidity, he could risk losing custody.

The odd factor here is that this grown man lives with his daughter at his mother's house and, his mother is a good friend of Sista's ex mother-in-law... YES... the same grandmother who is alleged to have sexually abused her granddaughter. The same grandmother she is locked in a court battle with.

The fact that there is a connection here will add to the big mess in the court now because Sista plans to legally pursue this slanderous event through her lawyer. Her employer is more than willing to back her up, and has encouraged her to seek legal counsel.

The grandmother in question continues to visit with her 6 year old grandson via telephone, while her granddaughter systematically refuses to speak with her. The grandfather is civil towards my Sista, and, he has maintained the once a month visitation allowed by the court. The kids look forward to spending an afternoon with him. The 6 year old is doing well in school and rarely mentions his grandmother < last year he was having all sorts of trouble, in particular, after physical visitation with her >. One of the last times he talked to grandmother on the phone, Sista heard him say, "why do you have to call me... I don't want to talk to you." After he got off the phone he told my Sis that she said, "the judge will put me in jail if I don't call you...."

What a stupid thing to say to a 6 year old. Yet, none of us are that surprised considering she has called and sobbed on the phone as well as telling him that she has a bunch of presents for him. Doesn't she think that this will come up in court? Does she think that this will be viewed as heathy for the children?

In light of events... looks like it'll drag it out further. What a bunch of shit.

October 18, 2000This damn cold I have seems to be hanging on. Yesterday I took some over the counter non-drowsy stuff and I thought I was feeling better. I really did feel better for a few hours... but, it could have been the placebo effect. In fact, I think that the stuff screwed up my reflexes because last evening while Cass and I were out running the roads and I didn’t feel like I was driving my car normally! In fact, I know I wasn’t....

...hmmmmmmmmm... maybe I should have checked the fine print on the box for one of those “don’t operate machinery you stupid ass” warnings. Oh well... too late now. At least we made it home intact. Regardless, I won’t be taking that stuff again. It was like an unpleasant high... altogether inadequate where my “feel damn good” receptors are concerned. Inefficient stimulus constitutes a bad buzz. I hate that.

Tomorrow morning is the big day when Cass and I leave for vacation... you can expect an update < most likely > the evening of the 25th... unless I’m too tired or too lazy to do it until the 26th.

I expect tonight to be rather frantic, yet fueled by some pre-vacation adrenaline. Neither of us are packed for the trip yet! Nothing like waiting until the last minute to provoke some agitation...!

So here I am at the office with a cold in my head and a smirk to go... this has to be the first time I’ve had a cold and found myself periodically grinning.

My fingers are crossed that I’ll be able to get to sleep tonight at a decent hour... OHMY! Look at the time!...I’ll talk to ya when I get back!

8:00 pm. Arrived home less than an hour ago.

Edgy. Driving all day.

Edgy why?
Dodge Intrepid. Rental car. TRAFFIC. A billion exit and on ramps. A thousand lane changes. BIG TRUCKS. Lot's of ‘em. Check mirrors and watch the cars around you. Turn signal. Switching lanes. Death grip on steering wheel. Find a radio station. Watch out for curves. Slam on brakes. Swear at driver. Gently tap brakes. Accelerate. Pass cars. Pass trucks. Pass tractor-trailers swaying down the road. High speed. There's a cop. Slow down. The cop isn't following. Speed up. Get gas. Spot Java hut. Get a double mocha espresso. Slam it. Stainless steel stall restrooms. The person before you decided to piss on the seat. Fucker. Move to next stall. Toilets with the your-ass-is-up-so-it-flushes sensors. Auto faucets. Cheap soap. Paper towels. Bits of paper litter the floor. Hurry up and leave. Back on the road. Rain. Drizzle. Figure out how to use the wiper on the rental car. Rain. Hard rain. Medium Rain. Annoying can't-see-anything rain. Driving 85. Rain coming in through open window. Shut window. Watching the line on the edge and the car in front of me that is disappearing fast. Heart pounding. Everything is fine. 120 seconds to dry roads. Speed along. Repeat. Clench jaw. Spot exit to home. Nearly miss it. Driving 5 miles on dark back roads. Pull in driveway. Dog runs over to greet the car. Big black lab smiling.

Happy dog. Happy me. Happy Cass. Happy we.

It's always nice to come home. Especially after the day long driving ordeal.

Sooooooo.... we leave the house in the dark and head for the gas station to gas up the car before returning it. Then we drive to the department store parking lot to get the truck. It's there. No impound fees. Great! But - the damn thing was dead. Nothing from the battery. Looks like I left the lights on when we departed in heavy morning fog. Damn it!

Grab the jumper cables from the back of the truck. Try to figure out the hood latch on the rental car and hook it up. Start the truck and put the cables away. Follow Cass to the rental place. Wait in the parking lot for her to return from the building. She gets in the truck. Truck stalls. Won't start. Cass goes in and gets the keys again. Another cable grab/jump start. Leave and drive directly home to get her car so we can go back out to get some groceries. My truck is now dead in the driveway. The last thing I feel like doing is shopping. But - I have incentive now because I need to buy a battery charger. A battery charger and cough syrup.

Face it. I am waaaaaaaaaaaay too fun today. Hmmmmmm... you probably wish you were me, right? Ha. I knew it...

Anyhow, I can only hope that the cough syrup will work tonight because I am sick of coughing and waking myself up. I am sick of coughing altogether. But, I'm easy to find in a store if I stray from your presence.

< end of morning tangent >

Now, about the vacation....
Aside from lots of driving, the vacation was wonderful! It was great to be somewhere else... and great fun to be with my family. In fact, they are a blast. Yes. Even you would like them. Hmmmmmm. And I heard you were pretty damn picky, too... ;^)

tales from the handy gene pool:
the mad handybrother....
The addition my bro is building on the house will add 2,300 square feet. Clearly... it's a house in itself. And, an awesome place at that. A great house on a wooded mountainside. A substantial piece of work... exhausting as it is for me to contemplate building at that scale. Unequivocally exhausting even for him. Worth it in the long run while you suffer through the labor pains now. THAT keeps you moving. That and sheer determination.... which is really a nice way of explaining the stubborn/bullheaded gene we were blessed with.

waaaaaaaay cool kids:
Growing like crazy at 9 and 11. Happy faces with open arms. Arms that know how to hug!
One evening we were serenaded by my 9 year old niece. Singing to her CD collection. She wants to be a singer or a veterinarian. At 9, she's an impressive singer. Great potential. She likes all things girly... and, she changes her clothes several times a day, or - at the least, some aspect of her dress... like changing her shoes or her top... or adding a fashion accessory. Hmmmmm.... 9 and fashion conscious. On the flip side... she has her own little 4 wheeler she drives through the trails. Living on a mountain don't mean ya ain't got nothing to do!

My 11 year old nephew is into the whole Pokemon scene. All things Pokemon. That and Super Mario for N64. An 11 year old with a size 11 shoe. Nearly as tall as me. Smiling friendly freckle face with pink cheeks and curly hair. A happy and sensitive guy who still accepts hugs and kisses. Winner of the summer spelling bee. Hates getting up in the morning for school. His favorite phrase is, "cool." And he tools through the trails with a dirt bike all his own. Riding like he's part of the bike and the trail.

SOWADYADEW?
For the most part we hung out at the family home for the majority of our stay. Talking, laughing and goofing off. A few times Cass and I ventured off on our own. Once we took a road trip into a park and another time we went shopping and bumming around. Of course, it didn't take me long to find a roadside flea market.

From the road it looked like there was tons of stuff set up out in this open lot area, upon closer inspection, it was not that impressive. While I like junking... much of the stuff here looked like it belonged in a trash heap. Yet, there was one guy there that sticks out in my mind. An old grizzly looking guy that sat behind his boxes and table lined completely with RUSTY TOOLS. I am not kidding. There was not a tool that wasn't completely rusty, dusty brown. I wanted to laugh but was polite enough to stifle it. I especially wanted to laugh when I noticed that his hands looked like the tools. I should have taken a picture. But.... that's OK. I have one in my head.

I did buy one thing at this open air flea market but it wasn't from the guy with rusty tools. I bought a wooden ammunition box. I have one already at home. It's hanging on the wall in the bathroom, and is converted into a storage cabinet. Stamped on the front of it is: "ammunition for cannon with explosive projectile". The one I bought and dragged home from the trip has "explosive bomb" stamped on it. I'm not certain what I'll use this for exactly - but... I did wonder why the word BOMB wasn't enough in and of itself. How many bombs are NOT explosive?

obvious snag of the trip...
I left with that damn curse of a cold and returned with it. Let's not fail to mention that I also passed it along to my brother while I was there. Guess we shouldn't have drank those shots in the communal glass. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to get rid of this pressure in my head and chest by drinking plenty of fluids and getting some rest. Half of today anyway. Tomorrow might be an entirely different story. I'm sure of that because there are things I feel I need to do. The stubborn/bullheaded gene won't allow me too much time on my hands.

the big city thing
On the way back home Cass and I had planned to drive to a big city hours away from the family destination to hang out and spend the night. We decided on this particular place because it would break up our drive home and, because it was somewhere neither of us had been. So we did.

What a nightmare it was to drive in. We aren't big city people so we both felt out of our element. After walking around downtown and marveling at all the people on the street for a weekday, we admired a smattering of random architecture and split for an area outside of town.

Sudden interruptionfor some BAD NEWS:
OCTOBER 26, 2000
A dreaded phone call early in the morning. Emergency.Local hospital. There's been an accident. Panic. I'm left feeling as if I'm dreaming. WHAT HAPPENED?????? WHAT HAPPENED?????? Then all I heard was... HE SHOT HIMSELF- HE SHOT HIMSELF. My cousin stuck a gun in his mouth and fired.I felt punched in the gut. Got dressed and headed out in the dark to the hospital emergency room. This couldn't be happening.
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This was happening.

OHMYGOD.

This was suicide. This was intentional. This was no accident.Nooooooooo.  Not another one. Nooooooooo. Not him. Not like this.

Nooooooooo.

My 30 year old weight lifting cousin is dead after lingering for over 3 hours. He just turned 30. Birthday balloons are still in the house. My Aunt and Uncle are devastated. I am in shock as I write because I feel a heightened lucidity. I felt this before when my Dad committed suicide... when my friend jumped from the bridge... when my sister's husband was killed in an accident... and now THIS. All in the span of less than 4 years. Too, too much.

But, it's that suicide thing again. I hate that word like I hate the word cancer. They are ugly words. Painful words. Unwanted in my vocabulary. I don't even like the way they feel coming out of my mouth. I don't say them... I spew them. As far away from myself as I can get them.

Again I find myself writing about what seems to be a mad handyma'am common theme... tragedy and grief. I had hoped to put all of that behind me. I was beginning to feel quite settled about what has already happened. I felt like I was moving along. Just like I should. I felt that things would be OK... and I still do believe that - WHY I cannot say. It's just that right now, all I can do is be there for the rest of us who are living.

I am not worried about myself. Today I thought that maybe the experience I had a few weeks ago when I got plastered and had suicidal thoughts was somehow tied to this. How exactly I do not know. But... that ENTIRE experience was not normal for me.

When I walked into the emergency room I met my cousin's former girlfriend in the lobby and immediately hugged her as we both began to cry. Seconds later a door opened and I saw my Aunt and Uncle and while she grabbed my Uncle and they began to sob, I grabbed my Aunt and felt her body wracking with grief as I held her. I saw a look in her eyes that I'd never seen and never wanted to see. This isn't real. This is real. This is unreal. This is true. The look in her eyes told me it was true.

The door opened and a nurse stood there as the chaplain said we could enter the room to say goodbye to him. Mom and Dave arrive and hug everyone with contorted grief stained faces. We file into the room. He's laying on a gurney. Covered with a sheet up to his neck. His head bundled in wadding. A blood stained intubation tube sticking out of his mouth. His entire head swollen. The color fading in his lips.

My Uncle is across from me hugging him and touching his face. His tiny body trembling over his son. He cries out, WHY - WHY - WHY... you were all I had... Dad loves you. Warm tears travel down my face and I watch them hit the floor. My Aunt is standing next to my Uncle crying the pain of a million Mothers. A mother who lost a son. A mother who is about to bury her third born son. A mother who already buried her first. Bright red blood trickles from the corner of his mouth as my uncle kisses his son's face and continues wailing. More tears hit the floor. I am stunned. I have no words. I reach out and caress his shoulder to say goodbye. I have to leave the room. I feel like I cannot breathe. I feel like I'm going to get sick.

Mom and Dave walk me out of the emergency room. We are talking on the sidewalk as my sister walks up and hugs me. I feel her shaking. She can't believe it. This can't be true. I know exactly what she means.

But it is true. As ugly as it is, it is true.

What was behind this? At this juncture, aside from speculation, the  why part of this is sketchy. Even if it was clear, it wouldn't change reality.

No reason in the world will make this OK. It's too damn late for that. He's dead.

Otherwise, my cold is getting better even though I feel my head is in the fog. I'm much too numb to be angry... yet I know that will come. I'm not looking forward to it. I hate feeling that way. It's like an unwelcome visitor... a situation in which you are much too polite to say, "get the fuck out!" You don't wear it well. You don't want it. But there it parks it's ugly self. Encompassing you... swallowing your time.

Like damn PMS to the 15th power. Grin and bear it and work through it.

That's what I am about to do today... put myself to work. The barn needs cleaning and a severe amount of complete organization. I'm going to get a start on it, even though I know the whole project will take days. I may as well work a little because I'll be thinking too much anyway. I may as well accomplish something during it.

Hmmmmm.... somehow, we will all get through this. Somehow, everything will be OK. It has to be. It has to be if we are to go on. Somehow, you keep moving. Somehow, you make it. Despite the missing pieces, you find yourself and your way.

October 28, 2000

Arrived home after day 1 of the dreaded funeral home experience. Day 2 follows and on day 3 he will be interred.

It was difficult and unnatural seeing my cousin laying there in the casket, despite the fact that he appeared more like himself than he did minutes after he had died in the emergency room. He was always so full of life and now he looked like a mere representation of his real self. Like something out of a wax museum. His bushy eyebrows were combed towards his temples. His hands looked somewhat translucent. His lips pinkened with an unknown waxy substance.

GOODGOD. I hate it when people say, "oh, he looks so good..." I'm thinking to myself, "what the fuck do they know?" NOTHING apparently. Not a damn thing! Nothing. Dumb shits. < hmmmm.... looks like that anger thing is rearing up! >

Then... I laugh to myself and think about all of the stupid people I've ever known. And.... since I have had moments when I can include myself in that category, I laugh harder and harder. The only thing is: I do this silently. I do this with a poker face. I say that because you didn't even notice. Nobody did. In fact, I didn't even flinch.

My being feels like a puppet. Empty. No hand to guide me. Nothing but the drone of time in my forehead and along my temples. A helmet of pressure. An air which reaches dreamlike status hugs me. I am encircled with a burning memory of something that I'd rather not remember. It ain't over yet. And.... even when it is.... it sure in the hell ain't. Then the REAL work begins. Then you feel like you are being tested. For real.

I feel like I've been tossed a life jacket with an anchor attached.

Mostly though... I worry about everyone else. About my family. My family that has gotten even smaller. The big guy is gone. The nice guy. The guy that would do anything to help somebody. Anybody. Most likely.... even you. He was just like that. Quite naturally.

Now he can't help anyone.

Imagine this muscular, tattooed, shaved head ...HUGE man. A guy that I once told < with a big smile on my face >, "hey...if you weren't my cousin....I wouldn't talk to you!" He looked SCARY. He looked mean. Except that he wasn't. He was the exact opposite. But... by looking at him, you'd never know. Not by stereotypical standards anyway. He looked like he could kick your ass up and down the street. When in all actuality although he could;  he was a kind and gentle soul. Thus proving that if you attempt to read this book from the cover alone.... you would have NEVER reached the substance. That was the best part of him. His substance.

Fucker. WHY did ya have to do that?

. . .    LOOK!

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here
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is another reason to smile..............................
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....brand spanking new babies!!!

October 29, 2000

Today was an emotionally draining day. I started off feeling fairly good this morning and then I slipped into a funk. It was an unusual day for me because I didn't have the energy to accomplish anything of merit. I hate that when it happens. But, in light of this hacking cold I have and my cousin's suicide - I'm left feeling depleted.

I opted out of hanging around the funeral home today and coughing. Tomorrow is the funeral and despite how I feel, I'll be dragging myself out of the house for that.

It's been a quiet day for me today. I spent much of the day playing around with the new puppies, and... part of it trying to distract myself by playing the newest Zelda game on N64. It didn't really work. Cass thought it would help me by getting the new Zelda game because she knows I have been waiting a good 9 months for it now... and, although it is very cool... the excitement factor has been lost on me for the moment. I guess what I am feeling is rather emotionally overwhelming today. Tomorrow may be different. Today I felt quiet and depressed. I hope tomorrow is different. I don't like this at all. I feel like I am not me.

There were many things I had hoped to accomplish here when I returned from vacation. So far... I've barely made a dent in any of it. My high expectations were thrown a curve ball. I'll just have to get over it. There's no sense in kicking myself while I'm already down.

October 30, 2000

Morning. Bright blue sky. A chill in the air. Today the big guy gets buried. This is still a dream.

I slept longer than usual last night. The puppies didn't even wake me in the middle of the night, fortunately.... they did wake Cass up. The only thing that woke me up was my periodic hacking cough, otherwise I slept like a rock.

I checked my e-mail this morning and a couple people guessed the new puppies were bull mastiffs. Close! They are bullies... but not mastiffs! Care to guess again?

Anyway.... I'd like to thank everyone who wrote me with condolences regarding my cousin's suicide. Sorry I haven't been prompt in answering e-mail you may have sent me... but, I promise to write you when things calm down. I try to answer all my mail but sometimes I get behind for whatever the reason.

The support and connections I have found in this vast cyberworld have astonished me.

Just when I thought nothing could surprise me....

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copyright 1998 - 2000diary of a mad handyma'am an anonymous cyberspace diary & property of the mad handyma'am
Always get permission to reprint or transmit any copyrighted material. For excerpt requests - please inquire viae-mail

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